Come With Me Tonight
by Moon Raven2
Summary: Four years in and they still treat him like a prospect. Juice never let it bother him (much)-until he met Olivia Gable. She's as damaged and alone as he, yet through her eyes Juice can see the man he could be. But as things in Charming heat up, and he makes one bad decision after another, can Juice & Olivia keep each other safe from the club's endless cycle of violence and death?
1. Without a Net

Hey, everyone! Here we have my first SoA fic. I'm pretty nervous, tbh. This starts early in season 2, but it doesn't exactly matter when. Before Chibs gets blown up, for certain.

Like I said, kinda nervous, so if you like what you're reading-maybe gimme some feedback?

**disclaimer: **I don't own Sons of Anarchy, and I'm sure as hell not making any money off of this. I do own Olivia Gable and any characters associated with her history.

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**we can lose ourselves**  
**not find our way back home**  
**till the whole world feels just like a saturday night**  
**without a care in the world**  
**without a net underneath us**  
**floating through the air**  
**high as a kite**  
**hey hey my my**  
**you're as pretty as the big blue sky**  
**hey hey it's alright**  
**cause, baby, you can come with me tonight  
**-Bob Schneider, "Come With Me Tonight"

The bar wasn't a usual haunt, but that was the point. It was outside of Charming, and as far as Juice knew it wasn't frequented by any MCs or gangs or anyone he was looking to avoid. He could have a beer in peace before he had to head back to the clubhouse for church. Sometimes, as much as he loved the club and his brothers, he felt sort of…separate from everyone else. He didn't mind being the butt of everyone's jokes; not really; but every once in a while he needed a break.

He slid up onto a stool, and as he tried to get the bartender's attention his eyes landed on a black leather wallet lying on the bar. He looked around. The stools on either side of him were empty, and the wallet looked abandoned. He thought about handing it over to the bartender, but he wasn't sure he trusted the guy not to steal any cash inside and then just toss it. This place wasn't just off the beaten path: it was also a total dive.

Juice flipped the wallet open and tugged the license out of its pocket. New Mexico. A woman, Olivia Jameson Gable. _Jameson_. Strange middle name for a woman. Maybe it was her maiden name. The picture was good, he thought; she was pretty in an old-fashioned kind of way. Light red hair. Green eyes. Pale skin. Freckles across her nose. Her height was listed at five foot three. A quick mental calculation told him she was twenty-nine years old.

He cleared his throat and slid the license back in place. He raised his head and looked around, eyes peeled for short redheads with freckles. It didn't take long before he caught sight of her down the bar a bit. She seemed to be alone, and she was drinking something that looked like bourbon.

He approached her warily, and when she glanced his way he offered a smile. "Hey," he said, but she held up a hand before he could say anything else.

"Thanks, but I'm not interested. I'm just fine drinking alone."

A crease formed between his brows. "Uh, yeah, that's cool, I, uh, I found this down the bar." He held out the wallet. "I took a look at the license, and I think it's yours."

"What?" She patted either side of her black leather jacket and her eyes went wide. "Oh shit. Wow, thank you, I didn't even realize I'd left it." She took it from him and opened it. Shook her head and tucked it away. "What a ditz."

"Nah, it happens." He hesitated. Then, "I'll leave you to your drink."

"Wait, hang on," she said as he turned away. He swung back toward her, and she flashed a brief smile. "I thought you were hitting on me. You're not hitting on me, are you?"

"I just figured you'd want your wallet back," he said with a shrug.

She studied him a moment, her head tilted and her eyes probing. "Yeah, okay." She jerked her chin toward the stool next to her. "Let me buy you a drink. I don't think there're many people in this place who would've given it back at all, much less intact and without creepy strings attached."

"I thought the same thing." He slid up onto the stool, and she waved down the bartender. He paid attention to _her, _Juice thought and rolled his eyes.

"Another bourbon, neat, and whatever he's having," she said.

"Beer. Whatever you got on tap," Juice said.

The bartender gave him a long, lizard-like blink. "We ain't got Dos Equis if that's what you're after."

Juice opened his mouth, but the girl was there first. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Ain't got spic beer," the bartender drawled.

She huffed out a laugh and glanced from him to Juice and back again. Casually reached into her back pocket and pulled out what looked like a set of brass knuckles.

"You gonna punch me, little girl?" the bartender said with a leer.

"No, baby," she said, her voice going low and smooth like honey. She flicked her wrist and a six inch blade flipped out. She set the knife on the bar and smiled. "But if you don't give my friend his fuckin' beer I might give you a few interesting new piercings. Tell me, sugar. You know what a Prince Albert is?"

He grunted, but his eyes were trained on her knife as she spun it in a lazy circle. "No," he said.

"Google it. But first get the man his drink."

He looked at Juice, wide-eyed, and Juice grinned. "It's a metal bar through your dick, man. I'd do what she says."

The bartender turned pale and stumbled away. He was back in a flash with a glass. "It's Coors. All we got on tap tonight."

"Coors sounds lovely," she said with a brilliant smile. She closed the knife and stowed it back in her pocket. "We appreciate your prompt and friendly service."

"Crazy bitch," he muttered, but only once he'd turned away and thought she couldn't hear. He hurried down to the other end of the bar to help some customers there, and Juice let out a gusty sigh.

"Holy shit," he said. "I'm glad I wasn't hitting on you."

"I wouldn't really have stabbed him," she said. "Or you, for that matter." She took a sip of her drink and grimaced. "That probably looked completely psycho."

"Surprisingly, no. I've got a buddy," he said, thinking of Happy, "who would've shot that guy just on principle."

Her mouth quirked. "I'm glad you left him at home then."

"Yeah, me too."

A silence fell between them, and her eyes felt hot on his face. They were light, a spring green, and her features were stronger than they'd looked in her license picture: straight nose, full mouth, a dimple in her chin when she smiled just the right way. Her hair was long—way long—and she had it divided into three braids along the curve of her skull, and then plaited into one heavy rope down her back. Her skin was so pale he thought it would show every emotion, every mark, every handprint—

He cut the thought off before it could go any further.

"I'm Juice," he said and held out his hand.

She slid her palm into his and the dimple flashed. "Olivia. But I guess you know that from my license."

"Nice to meet you. Thanks for the beer."

She laughed and dropped his hand. "What, no thanks for defending your honor?"

"That, too." He grinned wide enough to make his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I'm not Mexican, though. I'm Puerto Rican."

"Ohhh shit. Well let's call him back and I'll apologize. Clearly your honor was in no need of defending."

"Nah." He waved a hand. "I think he needed the shit scared out of him by a crazy redhead with a knife. Probably did him good."

"Nice," she said, "thanks."

He shrugged a shoulder and took a pull from his glass. "So. New Mexico, huh? You just passing through?"

She made a low noise and her eyes flicked away. Back. "Just moved here, actually. For a job."

"Oh yeah? What do you do?"

"Um, I'm a mechanic."

"Huh. Me too. I mean, sort of. I work at a garage, but I'm really more the IT guy."

She slanted him a look. "The IT guy at a garage?"

"I look after the security system and the computers and everything. Somebody's gotta do it, and most of the people I work with only know how to use a computer for porn." He winced as soon as he said it, but she didn't seem to care.

"Better you than me," she said with a rueful grin. "Hand me a box of computer parts and I'll build you Hal 9000, but once you turn that fucker on I gotta tap out. Computers and I are like oil and water."

"Must make working on newer cars tough."

"That's why I prefer classics. I like to get my hands dirty."

Something about the way she said it made him choke on his drink. He coughed and cleared his throat, but when he looked at her her expression was innocent. Maybe he'd been imagining things. His brow furrowed as her words penetrated and something clicked. "Was that your car in the lot? The Cougar with the New Mexico plates?"

"Yup. That's my guy. Rebuilt him from practically nothing." She studied him over the rim of her glass. "You aren't acting as surprised as I thought you might."

"Ahh…" He rubbed a hand over his scalp. He'd just seen her threaten the bartender with a switchblade, and she was wondering why he wasn't questioning her about being a mechanic? "I guess I don't want you to stab me," he said and flashed a smile.

"Right," she said with a twist of her mouth. Or maybe, she mused, he just wasn't an asshole. Surprise, surprise. Stranger things had happened.

He was cute, she thought, despite the dumb mohawk and scalp tattoos. She figured he must be pretty well inked up, but the black hoodie he wore zipped to his throat covered any others he might have. Gang? Maybe. But somehow he didn't give her that vibe, despite the big knife hanging from his belt. A banger probably would've pulled down on the bartender, and he hadn't—assuming he was carrying, and she had a feeling he was.

"It's, what, a '70?"

She blinked and ran his last question over again in her head. She'd missed most of it, but she had the gist. "Good call," she said. "My grandpa had a '69 when I was a kid, and I grew up wanting one, but then I saw the '70."

"The grill's better. Classier, I guess, but still kinda grungy."

"_Grungy_," she said, turning the word over in her mouth. "Yeah, exactly. I think it's a _grungier_ car than something like the Mustang or the Thunderbird. A little rough around the edges." Her mouth quirked. "The '69 is rougher in some ways, but I guess I like a little style with my grunge."

A thousand things popped into his head. He was glad she hadn't been insulted by his description, and he couldn't help but wonder about the kind of woman who carried a brass knuckle switchblade (and wasn't afraid to whip it out) and liked her car "rough around the edges." He had to clear his throat again, this time to stall while he gathered himself.

Finally he struck on something suitably banal and said, "You're probably too short to hit your head on the claw under the hood."

She pulled a face. "One of the few times my height has been an advantage. That thing is a danger to itself and others."

Her voice trailed away as the sentence ended, and her eyes were trained on a spot near the door. "It, uh. It's tripped up more than a few people, like some kind of, um…booby trap."

Juice frowned and followed her gaze. His scowl deepened. The bartender was talking to two other guys, and he was gesturing their way. He was glowering and—Juice was no lip reader, but it didn't take a genius to tell—cussing like a sailor. His buddies looked mean. Big and mean.

"Maybe we should get outta here," Olivia said.

He whipped around to stare at her. "What, together?"

She regarded him through cool green eyes. Lifted a brow. "I really don't want to have to stab anyone tonight. Do you?"

"Good point." He slid off the stool and reached for his wallet, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Fuck it," she said. "Ludo owed you that fuckin' beer."

The three heavies were making their way through the crowded room toward them. She tugged his arm and the two of them cut around the other side of the U shaped bar. Juice unzipped his hoodie and a quick glance confirmed her suspicion about a gun. Well. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, but it was good he had it just in case. They made it through the door and into the parking lot, but they both knew the guys would probably just follow them. And a parking lot was a much better choice than a busy bar for assault and battery.

"I'm over here," Juice said and pointed left.

She was parked just behind him, so she walked with him to his bike. "Well fuck," she said when they got there.

The front tire was completely flat. Juice stared at it in disbelief.

"You are fucking kidding me! How did that asshole know this was my bike?"

She knelt in front of it and shook her head. "I don't think it was him. Look."

He peered over her shoulder at the nail sunk deep into the rubber and scowled. "Pretty fucking weird coincidence."

"Um hum." She glanced back toward the building and stood up so fast she almost knocked into him. "I'll bring you back for it later. Come on."

"I can't leave my bike!"

She was already crossing the lot to her car, but she stopped and spun back. "They won't know it's yours. Juice, come _on_!"

They both heard the squeak-and-swish of the door, and the brief swelling of music from inside the bar. She looked that way with big eyes, and her face told him everything he needed to know. He hurried after her.

She hopped in the car and leaned across to unlock the passenger side, and he slid in next to her. The engine started with a roar that subsided to a purr. She shifted into reverse and gunned it out of the parking spot, then streaked out of the lot. Juice glanced in the mirror to see the three stooges choking on dust and screaming unintelligible obscenities at the Cougar's taillights.

"Guess neither of us are goin' back there anytime soon," Juice said.

She let out a shaky laugh. "It was a shit hole anyway."

"Your life always this exciting?"

"Hah. No, thank goodness." She cut him a look. "Yours?"

"Um, sometimes. I guess."

Her mouth quirked. "I figured, with that piece you've got. Most people don't carry a gun and a blade unless they're expecting trouble."

He hesitated, and she waved a hand. "Forget it. It wasn't a question, just an observation."

He settled back in his seat and decided to change the subject. "You live around here?"

"I haven't found a place yet, so I'm staying at a motel for now. It's just down here." She rolled her eyes. "That's why I picked that dive: close to the motel."

Suddenly Juice burst out laughing. She took her eyes off the road long enough to blink at him. "Sorry, I just—you think he told those guys a girl half his size threatened to stab him? You really think he said that?"

Her lips curved in a reluctant smile. "He probably said it was you. Called upon their shared spirit of racial hatred. Racist Neanderthals unite." She whipped the car into a motel's parking lot and circled the building to park in the back, out of sight of the road. Cut the engine and jingled the keys in her hand. "Home sweet home."

She hopped out and shut the door behind her. He watched from the passenger seat as she crossed in front of the car and stepped up onto the sidewalk. She had her hand on the doorknob when she looked back. "You coming?" she said loudly enough for him to hear from inside the car.

He nodded dumbly and climbed out. She let him in ahead of her and hung the Do Not Disturb sign from the knob before she closed the door and locked it behind them. He glanced around the room: cheap, but clean, with an ugly bedspread draped across an unmade bed and a generic still life bolted to the wall. A suitcase on the low bureau. A duffle bag on one of those fold out luggage rack things. Both pieces of luggage were locked with combination padlocks.

"Most of my stuff's in storage," she said. "I like to travel light. And I don't really like maid service."

He turned to face her and she tugged her jacket off and hung it from the back of a chair. Dropped her knife on the table before she tucked her hands in the pockets of her jeans and offered a wry smile. "Not the usual scenario when you get picked up in a bar, huh?"

"I don't—" He paused and cleared his throat. "Nothing about this is all that usual."

She made a soft noise of agreement. Then, "Would you mind, um,"—she gestured toward the table—"your gun?"

"Oh. Yeah." He shrugged out of the hoodie and stripped off the holster underneath. Set them both on the table next to her knife and saw her relax.

"Nice ink," she said with a glance at his arms. She tapped her head. "Did that hurt? So close to the bone and everything."

He shrugged. "A little, yeah. About like the ribs, but without the tickling. How about you? Got any ink?"

Her head tilted. "Some," she said. "And you're right: ribs are a bitch."

He had a sudden flash of what might be under her button-down white blouse. On her ribs. Other places. He swallowed hard and flicked his eyes back up to meet her sardonic gaze.

"You're cute, Juice, and so far you've been cool. Don't fuck it up now by staring at my tits."

He almost choked. "I wasn't—I mean—I was just wondering about—I mean—" He sputtered on like that for a bit longer until she took pity on him.

"Don't worry about it," she said and stepped closer. "I took a peek at your ass when you went by me a minute ago."

"Guess we're even then."

"More or less."

She recognized the tattoo on his arm. That, combined with the motorcycle, answered the question about possible gang affiliation. Not a gang, exactly: an MC. Around here he'd be SAMCRO, unless he was Nomad. She wondered why he wasn't wearing his cut. She ran over the list of names Big Pete had given her, and his rang a vague bell. She should've paid closer attention.

She reached out and traced a finger over the Reaper, and he shivered a little—whether from surprise or from the feel of her fingers he couldn't tell.

"My old boss was in an MC," she said. Las Cruces Sons charter, she _didn't_ say. "You could call some of your boys to come help with your bike. Better than hangin' around here, and the assholes at the bar would leave you alone."

"I don't know," he said. "It's not so bad here."

A wry smile. "You're just saying that because I didn't stab you for ogling my boobs."

"That's definitely a plus, but I think if you were gonna stab me you would've done it by now."

"Probably." A pause. "I've never actually used that knife on anything living, if it makes you feel better."

"A little," he said with a grin, "but they say there's a first time for everything."

She took another step and was so close he could feel the warmth of her. "They do say that, don't they?" Her eyes searched his face. "It's been a night of firsts. First time I ever threatened to give a bartender a Prince Albert. First time I ever picked up a guy at a bar. Women, once or twice, but never a guy."

He blinked. "Wait. You're gay?"

"If I were gay would I be about ten seconds away from making out with you? No. I'm bi."

He blinked again. "You're ten seconds away from making out with me?"

"Well I was. Maybe not now." Her eyes narrowed. "You're picturing me making out with a woman, aren't you?"

He pulled a face. "Nooo," he said as he nodded _yes_.

"Typical." She thunked him on the shoulder with the heel of her hand, and as he twisted away he grabbed her and pulled her against him.

"Didn't your mom ever tell you it's not nice to hit people?"

"My mom's dead."

"I'm sorry," he said, his face softening. "So's mine."

"Nice that we have something in common besides tattoos and a penchant for knives." Her gaze drifted down to his mouth and back up again. She bit her lower lip in a way that made him want to pant. "So are you going to kiss me or are we gonna swap sob stories?"

His hands were on her waist, and he gave a brief squeeze. "I wasn't sure you still wanted me to."

"Hhhmm." She ran the tip of her nose up the side of his neck and took a deep breath. He smelled good, like sandalwood and leather with a hint of beer. Pot, too. A trace. It had been a long time since she'd kissed a man, and even longer since she'd kissed one just because she wanted to.

"This is probably a really awful idea, but what the hell." She closed the last bit of space between them and pressed her mouth to his.

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_I basically just had to split this first bit in half bc it was way long. Sorry for the abrupt ending! Chapter 2 will hit the streets soon._


	2. A Kiss Goodbye

Thanks for the kind comments/follows/favs from chapter 1! Let's get on with things, shall we?

Sexy times ahead. Don't read if you don't like sexy times.

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**it might as well be you that i wake up to tomorrow  
****and it might as well be you that tonight whispers my name  
****and it might as well be you that i cling to  
****that i laugh with and sing to  
****that i kiss goodbye to never see again**  
-Del Amitri, "It Might As Well Be You"

He'd been sort of expecting it, but it was still a surprise, and for a split second he froze. Then instinct kicked in. He skimmed one hand up the line of her back while the other went to cup her face. He stroked her neck with his thumb and enjoyed the low noise of pleasure she made against his lips. She tasted like bourbon and Altoids, and the hot/cool mix was heady enough to make him dizzy.

She pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed. Her pale cheeks were flushed and she brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. "I'm feeling better about this idea," she said with an ironic little smile.

"I was on board from the beginning."

"Aren't you smart," she murmured and kissed him again.

Her tongue slid against his, a heated glide, and she ran her hands over his chest. He broke away from her mouth and pressed his forehead against hers. Their eyes locked, and as he toyed with the buttons on her shirt his asked just one question: _okay?_

"Let me help you," she said with a smile. She leaned back and handled the top few buttons while he went for the bottom ones. They met in the middle and she shrugged the shirt off. He helped her pull the camisole over her head, and his laugh died in his throat.

"Whoa," he said. It was a grossly inadequate expression, but it was the only thing he could think of as his eyes traced the elaborate tattoo on her side. He brushed his fingers over it and she shivered.

"Ribs," she said. "Tickles."

The ink started somewhere below the waistband of her jeans and spread up the entire length of her left side. It ended just below her armpit, but then branched out to curve above her breast. It was done entirely in subtle variations of gray—from a pale, barely there wash to a deep charcoal, but never true black—and occasional touches of deep purple and amethyst. It looked like a tapestry. Flowers and thorns and butterflies (_moths_, he thought, _not butterflies_) and the occasional beetle. There was a skull near the middle with a moth perched on its orbital bone. The winged insect looked so real he poked it.

"It's a _memento mori_," she said. "A reminder. The flowers are life, but the skull and the beetles are death. The butterflies remind you how short life is, and that appearances can be deceiving." Her mouth quirked. "They're carrion eaters, you know."

So they were butterflies after all. Carrion eating death butterflies. "That's pretty intense."

"Mmhhmm. Almost as intense as covering yourself in Reapers." She tapped his arm. "Anyway, you're looking at the last five years of my life. Took me that long to save the money between each session, and to forget how much the last session fucking hurt. I'm a wuss about pain."

Something about the tattoo made him think she'd known her share of pain and weathered it just fine, but he didn't comment. The kind of woman who tattooed a death reminder on half her body; the kind of woman who threatened a guy three times her size with a knife because he called a complete stranger a nasty name; the kind of woman who'd built her car practically from scratch and drove it like a demon from hell—that kind of woman didn't need to explain herself or justify her pain to anyone.

"You're thinking very loudly," she said.

He shook his head and finally tore his gaze away from the tattoo. "No, I just—it's amazing." He ran his hand up her side from hip to shoulder. "Sexy," he said, his voice going husky.

She used his shirt to tug him closer before she pulled it over his head and tossed it away. Her fingers skimmed his chest and up the side of his neck. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and then they were kissing again, all lips and teeth and tongues and hot breath. She had his belt undone and was working on his fly when she pulled back with a hiss.

"What's wrong?" he said with a frown.

"Do you have a condom?"

"Oh, shit. Yeah, I think so." He fumbled in his pocket for his wallet, and after a brief search emerged with two condoms.

She lifted a brow. "Two? Someone's awfully optimistic."

"What can I say?" He shrugged and grinned. "I'm a dreamer."

Olivia laughed and took them from him. Ripped them apart and tossed one over to the bed and dropped the other one onto the table behind her. She took a moment to toe her shoes off and kick them out of the way, then she hooked her fingers in his belt loops and pulled him against her. He made short work of her bra, and she gasped as his hand closed around her breast. She bit her lip, and he watched in fascination as a flush spread across her chest. He'd been right about her skin.

He was trying to unfasten her pants one-handed (he had no intention of letting go of her breast; it felt too good in his hand, and the noises she was making as he played with her nipple were hot as hell) when she laughed and did it for him. She wiggled out of her jeans and a quick glance down revealed that the tattoo draped over her hip before it finally ended about a quarter of the way down her thigh.

He dropped to his knees in front of her and ran his tongue along the vine that dangled the lowest. She let her fingers glide over the curve of his skull as he kissed and licked and nipped his way up her side. Each drip of color earned extra attention, and by the time he'd reached the vine that caressed the side of her breast, she was panting his name in sharp little gasps. His mouth closed over the nipple and she dug her short nails into his back.

His hand slipped over the soft swell of her stomach and stopped at the top of her panties. He cut his eyes up to her face.

She nodded. "Don't stop, baby. Please."

He slid his fingers beneath the cotton and sucked in a hard breath when he felt how wet she was. She laughed low and silky, a hot ripple that cut straight through him.

"_Parts_ of me were as on board with this from the beginning as you were," she said. She pulled him to his feet and for a long time they stood locked together, kissing and touching and laughing.

He stroked her clit between kisses, at first feather-light touches, but then more firmly until she was rocking her hips against his hand. She clung to him and moaned his name into the side of his neck. He slid two fingers into her; teased her with them; brushed his thumb over her clit; ground his palm against her and wriggled his fingers deep inside.

"Yes, baby!" she said, her breath hot on his skin. "Yes, fuck, so good!" He stroked in and out, twisting his hand with each thrust and flicking across her clit. The heat was a long, slow build until it crashed over her in one hard, molten wave. She bit down on his shoulder as the orgasm rippled through her, and she probably would've fallen if he hadn't been there to hold her up. As it passed she rested her forehead against his neck and struggled to get her breath back.

"Wow," he said.

She laughed. "I was kind of thinking the same thing." She took his hand and sucked his fingers into her mouth each in turn, swirling her tongue around them until they were clean. "To be honest, I wasn't sure I would come with a guy."

He stared at her. "Then why—?"

"Don't be offended." She dropped a quick kiss onto his shoulder, the spot that still bore a mark from her teeth. "It's just been a long time, like I said, and before that…" She trailed off with a wry shake of her head. "It doesn't matter. We're here now."

"Yeah, but—"

She slid her hand down his pants and grinned as she wrapped her fingers around the hard length of him. "Do you want to talk about my boring past, or the much more exciting present?"

He let out a strangled gasp and managed to nod. "The present. The present sounds much better."

"I thought you might say that." She reached behind her for the condom, and she'd just pushed down his pants when they started to ring. Her brow lifted and her mouth curved.

"Fuck," he said. "Just, uh. Just gimme a sec." He retrieved his pants and searched the pockets for his phone. He managed to grab it just before it went to voicemail. "Hello?"

Olivia didn't see any reason why his phone call should interfere with her plans, but she did try to muffle the sound as she ripped the condom open. Juice shot her a glare and she smiled sweetly. She could hear a voice through the phone; a man with an accent (Irish? Scottish?); and he was talking about church. The term was familiar from her time in Las Cruces (and other places before that), and she knew it didn't mean religious services.

Juice drew in a sharp breath as she swirled the tip of her thumb around the head of his cock, and the guy on the other end of the phone broke off mid-sentence. "No, yeah, fine. Just, uh, got shocked. Listen, Chibs, I'm gonna be a little late tonight. I got a flat and—"

The guy interrupted him with a stream of words she couldn't make out. She ran her fingertips up and down the length of his shaft. He glared at her and she stifled a laugh.

"No, man," he said, "I just need somebody to come pick me up in the tow truck. In, like, an hour." She squeezed. "Or two."

A smirk, and she cradled his balls in her other hand. Squeezed them gently as she stroked him with a loosely-fisted hand.

"Hey, I gotta go. Can you just send one of the prospects in a few hours?" He swallowed hard. "Have him call first so I can tell him where to meet me." A pause. "Nah, man, everything's fine. Just, ya know. Something came up."

She understood his next question perfectly, and Juice took a moment to trace his eyes down the length of her body before he answered.

"Yeah. A pretty great rack. Nice ass, too."

She swatted him in the stomach with the back of her hand, but he dodged it. "Gotta go, brother. Cover for me and I'll owe you." He flipped the phone shut and tossed it away.

"Good chat?" she said.

"Uh huh."

"So you think I have a great rack?"

"Uh huh," he said with an appreciative nod.

"And a nice ass, too?"

"Yup." He grinned. "You're also kinda evil. I like that."

She laughed. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't forget about me, sugar."

"I don't think that's likely."

"Good," she said. Her lips were curved in a smirk as she discarded the wrapper and rolled the condom up his shaft. She let out a little squeak as he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her onto the table. "Pretty cheap table," she said, breathlessly. "If it breaks you're paying for it."

"Deal," he said and slid into her with one long, easy glide.

She gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders. "Did I hear him—ooo—call you _Juicy_?"

"Uh huh." He grasped her hips and pulled her to him. The table creaked alarmingly, and she laughed into the side of his neck. It turned into a moan halfway through as he thrust deeper, hard and slow.

"What's your—" She lost the thread a moment as she rocked against him. "What's your real name?" she managed.

"Juan Carlos," he said with a grin. He bit the side of her neck and sucked softly. "Ortiz."

Another low, breathy laugh. "You should've just told the bartender that. He probably would've—mmmm, that's good!—had a heart attack right there, and we wouldn't be in this mess."

"I don't know," he said, his voice rough and strained. "I'm kind of enjoying _this_ part of the mess." He groaned as she squeezed him deep inside, and he moved faster. Harder. "Would we still be here in your version?"

"Mmmmm…maybe. You were awfully cute about my wallet."

He smiled and her legs tightened around him. He shifted the angle a bit and she whimpered. "Good?"

This time she could only nod, and his grin deepened. Their pace quickened and the table groaned in protest. He murmured her name again and again, a breathless accompaniment to the sound of skin against skin.

"Olivia—fuck—I'm so close!"

"Me too, baby, just—just a little more…!"

He slid his hand between them and found her clit. He stroked the slick nub and thrust hard. Her head fell back and she rocked forward to meet him. His name fell from her lips; he felt her go tight around him. He gathered her close and buried his face in her neck as his own orgasm hit. The force of it staggered him, and he felt her come again as his fingers danced over her clit.

They both went still, arms around each other, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked. Their breath mingled as they panted. She ran her fingers along the curve of his skull and he traced his hands up the lines of her back. The moment was sharp and clear, crystalline, and they both felt its quiet power.

She broke away first, and the table creaked as she shifted. "Well," she said, "that was something."

He turned away to get rid of the condom and almost tripped over his pants, which were bunched around his ankles. She muffled a giggle. "A little wobbly?"

"Maybe I should've taken my pants off."

She shrugged and slid her hand down his back. "We were in a hurry, I think."

He mumbled an agreement and tugged his pants up far enough to allow him to hobble across the room and toss the condom in the trashcan. She slid off the table (gingerly), and he turned around in time to appreciate the view as she sauntered to the bed and stretched out like a smug, indolent cat. He sat down on the edge of it and unlaced his boots. Shucked his pants and underwear.

She sat up to drape her arms over his shoulders and drag him back onto the bed with her. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," she said. "You could call your buddy for that tow truck."

His brow furrowed and he brushed a coppery strand of hair off her damp forehead. "Do you want me to go?"

"No, not really," she said. Her head tilted and her smile turned impish. "Besides, we still have that second condom."

He groaned and fell back against the pillows. "I'm gonna need a minute. We've got another hour and a half."

"Hhhmm." She twisted around until she was straddling his hips. Leaned down to kiss him long and slow. "We better get started then."

* * *

An hour and a half later (give or take twenty minutes) Juice shrugged into his hoodie and zipped it up over his t-shirt and holster. Olivia pulled him down for another kiss, and he ran his hand up under her robe. She laughed and swatted him away.

"Go on," she said. "They'll be here any minute."

"Will I see you again?"

Her mouth quirked. "You know my name. My car. Where I'm staying. It wouldn't be hard for you to find me."

She didn't tell him it would be even easier than either of them had reckoned when she'd first invited him back here. She knew his ink. She knew his club. And she had no doubt the garage he'd mentioned was Teller Morrow—her soon-to-be workplace, if everything went well with her interview.

"I don't wanna stalk you," he said, his voice interrupting her musings.

She skimmed her hands down his chest and raised her head to kiss him low on the jaw. "This was fun, Juice. A _lot_ of fun. But maybe we should call it a good time and move on."

"Yeah." He shook his head. "Yeah, of course." He wasn't entirely surprised, but he couldn't help the twinge of regret that pinged through him. He'd kinda hoped—well. It didn't matter. "Maybe I'll see you around," he said with half a smile.

"Not in that shit hole down the road."

"Fuck no. Never again."

They smiled at each other, and if there was something wistful in either face, neither one wanted to mention it. His phone rang and he jumped.

"Go! They'll think I've kidnapped you."

He pulled her against him and kissed her. Savored the taste of her mouth and the feel of her soft, full lips against his. "Bye, Olivia. I hope everything works out for you."

She smiled. "You too, Juice. Try to avoid racist bartenders, okay?"

He nodded and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She stood in the doorway and watched him until he turned the corner and disappeared from her view. She shut the door, set the locks, and leaned back against it.

_Fuck_, she thought. Once again she'd acted without thinking. Once again she'd done the stupid, rash thing instead of the wise, careful thing. Her own lack of foresight was going to get her killed one day, she had no doubt. For now it was just going to make for an incredibly awkward work situation, because as much fun as the last few hours had been, the _last_ thing she was looking for was any sort of relationship—especially not with a Son.

She was no sweetbutt, and she sure as hell wasn't anyone's old lady. She was a mechanic. And that's all she wanted to be to anyone at Teller Morrow.

She wondered if she should've told him. How would he react when he saw her at the garage? Would he be pissed? She told herself it didn't really matter either way; she hadn't lied to him, and it was her business whether or not to tell him about TM.

It wasn't that she was a heartless person. She didn't set out to upset anyone, and she was mostly polite and rarely threatened people with knives. In general she lived her life and let everyone around her live theirs, and if they had an issue with the way she lived hers…well. They could shove it, pretty much.

So why did it matter if Juice Ortiz—a guy she'd known for about four hours—were upset with her? They'd both had a good time (he couldn't deny that), and if she didn't want to spill her entire life story to him, that was her prerogative.

She realized she was thinking in circles. With a sigh she pushed away from the door and headed toward the bathroom. She needed a shower. Maybe another bourbon, too. She let the robe fall from her shoulders to puddle on the floor and tugged the elastic from her hair. She finger-combed the braids out and shivered as the dangling strands brushed the small of her back.

She hesitated for a moment as her fingers passed over the wide leather cuff she wore around her left wrist. She'd seen Juice notice it and visibly decide not to comment. She'd been relieved. She pulled the cuff over her hand and ran a thumb along the thick scar that snaked up the inside of her wrist. Some questions, she thought, were better left unasked.

Old ghosts crowded close as she stood beneath the shower's hot, fitful spray. She should have let him walk away. She shouldn't have called him back. She sure as hell shouldn't have kissed him. If she hadn't kissed him she probably would've been fine—but something had happened in that kiss, and it was like she forgot every rule she'd ever made for herself. She rested her forehead against the shower wall and watched soap bubbles circle the drain.

She had a feeling sleep would be a long time coming tonight.

* * *

Juice climbed up into the tow truck's cabin and raised his brows at Chibs. "What, the prospects were busy?"

Chibs shrugged a shoulder and put the truck in gear. "I was hoping to get a glimpse of this mystery woman with the great rack. She charge by the hour?"

Juice glared at him and settled back in the seat. "Take a right," he said. "It wasn't like that. She was nice."

"Nice?" He shot Juice a skeptical look and chuckled. "I didn't realize nice girls hung around in places like this." At Juice's stony silence Chibs rolled his eyes and tried another tack. "What was this nice girl's name, then?"

He almost didn't answer. For some reason he thought Olivia would rather keep the details of their encounter (even something as simple as her name) between them. But he also knew Chibs wouldn't let it go, and at this point it would look strange to not say. He shrugged a shoulder. "Olivia," he said.

"Classy name. Doesn't sound like a working girl."

"She wasn't a hooker, man." He gestured. "Turn here."

"You picked a woman up _here_? And she wasn't a hooker?"

Juice rolled his eyes. "She's new to town. She's staying at that motel until she gets a real place, and she came here because it's close to the motel. It's not like she knows the area."

Chibs wondered why Juice had been here. It wasn't a place any of them frequented. He cut his eyes across the cab. "You need a change of scenery?"

"Somethin' like that," Juice said. He cleared his throat. "We sorta had an issue with the bartender."

"What? He hit on your nice girl with a great rack and you took exception?"

"Not exactly," he said, his mouth twisting. He told Chibs what the bartender had said and how Olivia had reacted, including the switchblade. "We kinda got chased out by the guy and two of his big dumb buddies. My bike had the flat, so that's how I ended up back at the motel with her."

Chibs let out a low whistle. "Sounds like quite a woman. Glad she was around to defend your honor."

It was the same turn of phrase Olivia had used, and he ducked his head to hide a smile. "Yeah. Good thing. C'mon, let's get my bike loaded up so we can get outta here. The two of us could probably take those guys, but I'd rather avoid bloodshed."

"You've had enough of a workout for one night, eh, Juicy?"

"Yeah, Chibs," he said as he jumped out of the truck, "I'm fuckin' exhausted."

* * *

_There is a plot here. Somewhere. And we're gonna get to it. Soon._


	3. Trying to Get By

revised version; exactly the same, but with some corrected errors :)

* * *

**pretty little dirtmouth, can't you see we're talking?**  
**all i'm doing is trying to get by**  
**the road is getting narrow**  
**i'm flying through the arrows**  
**your sentences are sparrows flying through the sky**  
Bob Schneider, "Dirtmouth"

The sleek black car—a 1970 Mercury Cougar—rumbled into the lot, and the sweet sound of its purring engine lured both Chibs and Juice from the garage and Tig and Happy from their spot at the picnic table. The car pulled into a parking spot and the muted roar went silent as the driver cut the ignition. The men met in the middle of the lot and waited.

Juice hung back from the others, his eyes wide and his body rigid. He knew that car. It couldn't be her, though. That would be crazy. He hadn't stopped thinking about her since the other night, and part of him had hoped they'd run into each other around town; he hadn't really expected her to just come roaring into TM. But she'd said she was a mechanic…and was in town for a job…and how many 1970 Cougars could there be in the San Joaquin County area? He caught sight of the plates and swallowed. New Mexico.

Fuck.

"Ten bucks says it's a lost college shit head who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground," Tig said.

"I'll take that action," Happy said.

"Mid-life crisis," Juice said. He tried to keep his voice level, but if it wavered no one seemed to notice.

"Nah, then it'd be red."

"That's not a _requirement_, Tig, it's just the cliché."

"Clichés are clichés for a reason, Juicy," Chibs said.

The driver's side door opened and a leg appeared. Then another. "Well, lads, looks like you were all wrong." Chibs cast a grin over his shoulder and strolled toward the car and the young woman who now stood beside it.

She locked the door and walked out to meet him, her gait easy and confident. She was a little thing for such a powerful car, he thought: she had to be almost a foot shorter than he. Her hair glinted coppery in the sun, and she had it braided into a sort of crown around the top of her head. She had on black slacks, a white button-down blouse, and a black leather jacket tailored to fit her curvy frame.

"Hey, darlin'," he said in his warmest voice. "You need someone to take a look at that car?"

She slid her sunglasses off and regarded him with cool green eyes. "No, my car's fine. Thanks, though." She carried a legal-style folder in one hand and tapped it against her leg. "You wouldn't know where I can find Gemma Teller, would you?"

"She's in the office," Tig said as he and the others joined them. "I'll show you."

Her mouth quirked. "I think I can find it." She peered around them and her smile deepened. A dimple flashed in her chin. "There's a sign and everything. Thanks for the help, boys." She started toward the building, but Juice's voice stopped her.

"Sure you don't need somebody to check out the car?"

Her stride hitched just a bit, but her face was impassive as she turned to study him. He felt that look down to his bones, and he shivered with it. She glanced back at the car, then at Juice. Held up her keys. He raised his hands and she tossed them to him.

"Check it out all you want," she said, "just don't ooo and ahhh too much. It'll go straight to his head." She threw a grin over her shoulder as she sauntered toward the office, the heels of her sleek black boots clicking smartly against the pavement as she went.

Tig let out a low whistle as they watched her go. "Shit, man. Nothin' like a curvy little redhead in a sexy car to get the blood flowin'. What?" he said in response to their expressions. "You were all thinkin' it, so don't fuckin' judge me."

Juice let out the breath he'd been holding and spun her keychain around on one finger. Jesus. She'd looked at him like he was a stranger. Had she known the other night that they would be seeing each other again so soon? She hadn't seemed surprised to see him. Maybe that had been his imagination, though. Maybe she'd been as shocked to see him as he had been to see her. Maybe she was just a really good actress.

Chibs took advantage of his distraction to grab the keys and toss them in the air with one hand to catch them with the other. "Let's see what she's got under the hood, eh, boys?"

* * *

Olivia tried to ignore the frantic pound of her heart as she paused for a moment at the office door and cast a look behind her. The guys who'd met her in the parking lot were huddled around her car. Good. That would keep them busy and away from her. Not that she was worried. Not exactly. All of them except the Scottish one were wearing cuts that identified them as prospects or members of the MC, and she knew they wouldn't actually mess with her.

She just had an aversion to large men in groups. Of course at her height nearly every man was large to her, but those guys had been _big_. And keen on more than just her car.

She made a very specific point not to think about Juice. His blank face. The odd tone to his voice. Hopefully she could put off any sort of one-on-one with him for a while. She had no interest in answering any questions—mostly because, despite her best efforts, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him, or to stop feeling a tiny bit guilty about not telling him the whole truth.

She realized she'd been standing at the door long enough for it to become awkward. She smoothed a hand down the fine wool of her slacks and knocked. A voice—a woman's voice, she thought with relief—bid her enter, and she stepped inside.

The woman sat behind a desk. She had black reading glasses perched on her nose and looked to be somewhere in her mid-fifties, but she had aged extremely well. Her hair was dark, but streaked white-blond through the top, like Rogue from The X-Men. Olivia had always liked Rogue.

Olivia cleared her throat and smiled a little. "Hi," she said. "I'm Olivia Gable. Pete Avett sent me about the open mechanic position. Are you Gemma?"

Gemma Teller-Morrow—for surely that's who she was—eyed her over the top of her glasses. Took them off and dropped them on the desk. Sat back with a long, complex sigh. "Yeah, I'm Gemma," she said. "_You're_ Pete's ace mechanic? The one he claims can fix anything with an engine?" A pause. "He didn't say you were so _small_."

She lifted a brow and stepped closer to the desk. "Compared to Big Pete I'm kind of average sized."

Pete Avett was five foot five if he was an inch, but he carried it well, and somehow he'd avoided the seemingly inevitable Napoleon complex. Olivia guessed it had something to do with the ironic joy he took in a nickname he'd had since before he could walk. The layer of easygoing affability that disguised a shrewd judge of character and a ruthless business sense had helped him ascend to president of the Las Cruces Sons charter. It was his good word that had gotten her this interview. It was his intervention that had (hopefully) gotten her the protection she sought in Charming. Now her only obstacle was Gemma, and Olivia knew she could blow this whole thing with one wrong word.

She tore her thoughts back to the present and slid the folder across the desk with a wry smile. "I don't want to put words in his mouth, but if that's what he said…sure."

"This your resumé?" Gemma said as she tapped the folder with a black-tipped finger. She sounded bored.

"Sort of," Olivia said. "Not exactly. More like…references."

Gemma sat back in her chair and eyed Olivia up and down. It was an acute, penetrating study, and Olivia had no illusions about her ability to hide much of anything from this woman. Gemma Teller saw through bullshit like a pane of glass. Big Pete had warned her, but it didn't matter: anyone with half a brain could see that much in one glance. Olivia squared her shoulders and met the other woman's gaze without flinching. Finally Gemma slid the glasses on again and flipped the folder open.

"That's my car," Olivia said. "Or _was_ my car. If you go to the end you can see what it looks like now."

Gemma studied the pictures with a frown. It was a long time before she said anything at all, but eventually: "You did all this? Yourself?"

Olivia shrugged a shoulder. She recognized Gemma's tone no matter how hard she tried to sound neutral—grudging, growing, slightly disbelieving respect. It put her more at ease. "In my spare time, yeah. I'm surprised Pete said such nice things, actually; he was pretty pissed when I wouldn't sell it to him."

Gemma scoffed and slid the folder back toward her. "What the hell would Big Pete do with a car?"

"He wanted it for his old lady."

"That bitch," Gemma said. "I bet he was pissed. She can make anyone's life a living hell."

Olivia dipped her head to hide a smile. "I wasn't gonna say it, but. Yeah. Pretty much."

Gemma took off her glasses again and stood. Smoothed her already impeccable top down over her hips. She walked around the desk and crossed her arms over her chest. "You really want this job?" she said.

"I do," Olivia said. "Pete told you what I can do. Those pictures should've made it clear if he didn't. I work hard. I don't fuck around. I'm on time and I don't flake out. All I ask is that your guys;" she tilted her head toward the parking lot; "leave me alone to do my job."

Gemma made a low noise and her eyes narrowed. "My _guys_ know better than to fuck with the help."

"I'm sure they do. I just like to make sure everyone's on the same page."

Gemma regarded her for a while longer, and just before Olivia gave up and started to squirm, she relented. "I was planning on hiring you anyway, but I wanted to hear what you had to say for yourself." She paused. "I like to make sure everyone's on the same page, too."

It surprised her into a laugh. "Fair enough," she said. "So does this mean I have the job?"

"Be here tomorrow," Gemma said. "Eight o'clock. I'll have someone show you around." Another long, loaded silence. "I'll be sure to talk to _my guys_ in the meantime."

Olivia hesitated. Then, "I guess Big Pete told you about me."

A nod. "Enough. Anything else I can fill in for myself. I guess it wasn't bullshit."

"Pete isn't really known for lying."

"Didn't say _he_ lied."

Olivia's mouth quirked. "It sounds implausible, but it's true. All of it."

"Yeah, I know," she said in a grim voice. "So why Charming?"

"I came for a job." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, toward the garage. "Not easy to find a mechanic gig where getting your tits ogled and your ass grabbed isn't considered par for the course."

"I can't make any promises about your tits. They're men, after all. Ogling is an ingrained reflex." Gemma took a step closer and her expression softened. "But nobody's gonna fuck with you here, Olivia. We take care of our own."

"Even the help?" she said and lifted a brow.

"Sassy little bitch," Gemma said with a twist of her mouth. "I think you're gonna work out just fine."

* * *

When she crossed the parking lot this time, Olivia didn't have to fake the confidence in her step. She'd gotten the job. Big Pete had assured her she would, but from what Olivia had heard about Gemma, she hadn't been quite so confident that she would get hired on Pete's word alone. Hence the folder.

She unzipped her jacket with a soft sigh of relief, but then stopped short halfway to her car. The little crowd around it had grown. A blond guy with a young Brad Pitt vibe and a giant Chewbacca type had joined the other guys to peer under the Cougar's hood.

"Fantastic," she muttered. Well. She might as well get used to dealing with them now. They sure as hell weren't going anywhere, and she planned on keeping this job for a while. She took a deep breath and waded in.

"Sorry, boys," she said, "but I gotta take your new toy. Time for Caligula and me to head home."

There were general sounds of disappointment, but Juice let out a sharp bark of laughter that he tried to muffle. "You named your car after a despotic Roman emperor?" he said.

She met his gaze through the crowd, and a brief, wordless exchange passed between them.

_You didn't mention that the other night_, his eyes said.

_You didn't ask_, hers replied.

_I had other things on my mind._ His gaze raked her up and down and she looked away. Her hands were trembling, he saw, and he realized at least some of her swagger was just for show.

"No, actually," she said aloud. "It's just a nickname. Sometimes. When he's acting fussy." She wanted to ask him how the fuck he knew who Caligula was, but she didn't want to insult him. Instead she said, "Most people don't recognize the reference."

He shrugged and grinned. "I spend a lot of time on the internet."

The Scottish one—_Chibs_ was stitched onto his shirt, and she recognized the name from Juice's ill-timed phone call—laughed and smacked him on the back of the head. "Aye, lookin' at porn. Musta been a porno starring your emperor," he said to Olivia.

Her mouth quirked. "Supposedly Caligula slept with all three of his sisters before his own guards assassinated him. One hell of a porno."

The guy who'd offered to show her to the office poked his head around the car hood. "What's this movie called?"

"There's no porno, Tig," Juice said.

The biggest guy lowered the hood and pressed it shut. "You got some real nice custom work in there. Who's your mechanic?"

"I am," she said. She peeked in the driver's side window and smiled. "Oh, good, keys in the ignition. That makes it easy." She reached for the handle, but Chibs got there first and opened it for her.

"_You_ did all that?" the tall guy said.

"Um hum." She opened the folder and pulled out one of the pictures. Handed it across the top of the car with a smile. "Poor guy was a wreck when I got him. Had to basically start from scratch."

"Whoa, whoa," the blond said. His badge read "V. President," and the others seemed to defer to him accordingly. "_You_ rebuilt this car? By yourself?"

"Weellll, I tried asking the car faeries to come and help, but alas. Car faeries are notoriously fickle creatures, and I didn't have a first born to offer them, so I was pretty much on my own."

A couple of them laughed, but Mr. VP just blinked. The patch made it click for her, and his name popped into her head: Jackson Teller. _Jax_, they called him. Gemma's son and the heir apparent. Pete had made sure to fill her in on _that_ colorful backstory.

"Your problem, lass, was offerin' 'em your first born. The car fae work for nothin' but high octane fuel and spark plugs," Chibs said with a shake of his head.

"That explains it. Silly me." She passed Jackson the folder of pictures. "Keep them," she said. "I'll get them back from you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" he said. "What's tomorrow?"

"You should ask your mom. She just hired me as your new mechanic." She slid into the car. "Thanks for the chat, boys," she said and shut the door. Started the engine. As she backed out she offered them a little wave and a grin, and none of them looked away until the car was through the gate and out onto the street.

"Huh," Tig said as he paged through the folder he'd taken from Jax. "Well don't that just beat all?"

"Mechanic?" Opie said. "Is one of us fired?"

"Probably Juicy," Chibs said as he looked over Tig's shoulder. "He's better with the computers anyway."

"At least I'm good at somethin' besides standin' around the garage holdin' my dick all day," Juice said.

Chibs held up a finger and peered at Juice over his reading glasses. "I do not hold my dick in the garage. I get one of the lovely ladies to do it for me, and that usually happens in the clubhouse."

"Anybody catch her name?" Jax said.

"It's in the front of the folder." Tig flipped back through the pictures. "Yeah, here it is. _Olivia Gable_," he read.

"Huh," Chibs said. He glanced up at Juice with shrewd eyes. "Classy name. Doesn't sound like a hooker."

"Why would it sound like a hooker's name?" Opie said. "She just said she's a mechanic. Stop thinkin' with your dick."

"Everybody's obsessed with my dick all of a sudden," Chibs said with a snort.

"Don't listen to 'em, Chibs. I've been obsessed with your dick all along," Tig said.

Chibs waved him off. "I gotta get back to work, unlike you lot. I'm the one who's _not_ fired."

"Remember who loved you first, baby!" Tig called to Chibs' back as he retreated into the garage, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

* * *

_Tig's sense of humor gives me life._

_Thanks for reading! :)_


	4. I Can't See Inside You

I think this is actually going okay. What do y'all think?

* * *

**pretty little dirtmouth, higher than a kite rail**  
**thinner than a ghost rail, sweeter than the sea**  
**i can't see inside you but i'd like to try to**  
**it would be so nice to, i believe**  
-Bob Schneider, "Dirtmouth"

Juice bided his time in the clubhouse, shooting pool and screwing around with the security feed. He tried to do some digging about Zobelle and his crew, but as usual came up with squat. When he figured it had been long enough since Olivia had left that he wouldn't arouse suspicion, he wandered toward the office. He poked his head around the door and Gemma glanced up from the stack of invoices she was wading through.

"Hey, baby," she said. "What's up?"

"Not much. Finally gettin' around to that computer. You said it was freezing?"

"That was _last_ _week_, Juice."

He shrugged a shoulder and shut the door behind him. "I've been busy. Want me to look at it now or not?"

She rolled her eyes and pushed away from the desk. Gathered the pile of papers and moved everything to the sofa. He turned the machine on and settled into Gemma's recently-vacated chair as he waited for it to boot. A silence fell, punctuated only by the hum of the computer and the scrape of Gemma's pen. He drummed his fingers against the desk until she glared at him over her glasses and he subsided with an apologetic smile.

"It's been a real pain in the ass doing all of this by hand, you know," she said. "Now I'll have to go back and enter everything in or the books'll be a mess."

"Nah, it's okay. I can do it. I'll come in early tomorrow and get it done before we open."

"Great. About time you boys learned to clean up—oh, fuck."

Juice looked up, a crease between his brows. "What? I'm sorry I didn't get to it sooner, but I—"

She waved him away and rubbed a hand across her forehead. "It's not you, babe. I've got the new girl coming in at eight tomorrow and I told her I'd get someone to show her around."

He was suddenly engrossed with whatever was on the screen in front of him. "New girl?" he said, struggling to keep his tone casual. "A new crow eater?"

Gemma snorted. "You know, I almost wish. No. This one's a mechanic." She pinned Juice with a shrewd look that he pretended not to see. "I'm sure you ran into her out in the parking lot. You boys were practically jizzing yourselves over that car of hers."

He shifted in his chair and let out a huff. "It's a nice car," he said. "I mean, for a cage." He punched a few more keys. Then, carefully, "Who're you gonna ask to give her the tour?"

She tossed the invoices aside and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Her glasses dangled from one hand. She studied him keenly, but he ducked his head and tried to look busy. "I guess you can do it, if you're gonna be here anyway," she said at last.

"Oh, yeah, sure," he said as though that weren't what he'd been angling for all along. "I could do that."

Gemma sat back, her mouth twisting into a smile. "I just bet you could." A pause. Then, "You listen to me, Juice Ortiz. That girl? She's off limits. She's here to work, not to fuck around. She's made it clear she doesn't want anything to do with the club, and I told her she wouldn't get hassled. You got it?"

"Yeah, Gem, I got it." He made a face. "Jesus, you make it sound like I was plannin' to jump her or something."

"I figure some things are better over explained. That way there's no confusion."

He hesitated. Fiddled with the computer a bit even though he already had the problem figured out. "She seemed pretty nervous. I mean, she was trying to hide it, but she was kinda freaked by all the attention."

Gemma was quiet so long he thought she wasn't going to answer. "She's been through some shit."

He expected her to say more, but the grim set to her mouth made it clear the subject was closed. "Yeah," he said. "She has that look."

"Don't we all?" She sighed and shook her head. "Just remember what I said, and pass the word along."

"No problem. We all saw those pictures, the before and after of her car. I don't think anybody'll be confused about why she's here."

"Good," she said. Then, "I'm tired, Juicy." She pushed herself to her feet and handed him the invoices. "I'm goin' home."

He watched as she gathered her purse and searched it for her keys. There'd been something different about her recently. A sort of…he wanted to say sadness, but he couldn't reconcile his brain to that word and Gemma Morrow.

"You doin' okay, Gemma?" he said. It was inadequate, but he wanted her to know he'd noticed. That he cared.

She gave him a sharp look and pulled a face. "We gonna have a moment, Juicy?"

He raised his hands in surrender. "It was just a question."

She found her keys and jingled them in one hand. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Thanks for asking."

He wanted to say something else, reassure her somehow, but by the time he'd sorted himself out she was gone. The door swung shut behind her and she didn't look back. He sighed, started a defrag on the computer's hard drive, and sat back in the squeaky office chair. How did he always manage to say exactly the wrong thing? Was he just destined to have his foot permanently planted in his mouth?

He let out a snort of disgust and shoved away from the desk. Gemma was right about one thing: Olivia was off limits. She'd made her position clear, and the way she'd acted toward him earlier only confirmed it. Whatever he thought he'd felt that night was apparently one way.

Except he couldn't quite buy that. He hadn't imagined it. There had been something there—something more than just a run of the mill one night stand. He'd had enough hook ups to know the difference.

So she had secrets. Fine. Didn't everyone? She had baggage. Yeah, join the club.

He drummed his fingers on the desk again. He didn't want to fuck this up, and that meant being careful. He could do that. He wasn't a complete idiot, contrary to the club's general opinion. He would talk to her tomorrow, maybe figure a few things out, get a few answers. He wouldn't push her. He was pretty certain she'd just run the opposite direction if he tried.

He wasn't sure what exactly he wanted, but he knew it wasn't that.

* * *

When Olivia pulled into the parking lot at five till eight the next morning, the place looked deserted. Gemma's big black Caddy SUV was nowhere to be seen. Most of the cars scattered around looked they belonged to customers, and there was only one bike in the _reserved_ section. She pulled into a spot in the employee area and cut the ignition. Ran a hand over her hair and took a deep breath.

New town. New job. New life.

"Don't fuck it up," she muttered to her reflection in the rearview mirror.

She hopped out of the car and locked it behind her. Started toward the clubhouse, but at the last minute veered off toward the garage office. She'd start there. She wanted to avoid the clubhouse if possible.

The door was locked, and the sign was flipped to "closed." She knocked on the glass panel and waited. She was about to give up and try the clubhouse anyway when she heard the lock flip. The door opened and she swallowed what she'd been about to say.

"Oh," she finally managed.

"Good morning to you too," Juice said with a crooked smile.

She lifted a brow and resisted the urge to cross her arms. "You're my tour guide?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "Gemma asked for volunteers." Sort of. But he didn't want to tell her the exact truth of it.

"Mmm," she said, a low noise of disapproval.

"Don't worry. She gave me a very stern lecture about keeping my hands to myself and showing respect." He paused. "I guess you didn't tell her everything, huh?"

"It wasn't her business," she said coolly as she brushed past him.

"Just like it wasn't my business that _this_ was the job you came to town for."

She whirled around, but he let her glare slide off him. He closed the door and flipped the lock. "Did you know?" he asked and leaned back against the doorjamb. Crossed one leg over the other. "Did you know I'd be here?"

She opened her mouth to lie, to tell him of course she hadn't, how could she possibly have known? Instead the truth tumbled out almost without her consent. "I recognized your ink," she said.

That startled him, but he tried not to show it. "How? You said you're not from Charming."

"I'm not. I worked at a garage kinda like this one in New Mexico. The president of the Las Cruces Sons charter owned it. He basically got me my job here."

He looked away. Back. A muscle danced in his jaw. "Were you his old lady?" he said.

Her face twisted and she jerked her head in a sharp denial. "What—? Why would you even think—? No, Juice. I wasn't his old lady. I was his _employee_."

He sighed and ran a hand back and forth over his scalp. Pushed off the door and took a step closer. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I didn't want to get into it. I didn't think it mattered."

"What did you think was gonna happen when you showed up here, Olivia?"

She stepped up to him and lifted her chin. "I didn't bother to consider what effect my job would have on _you_, Juice Ortiz. Pardon me, but fuck you and your precious ego. Did you ever stop to think that maybe the other night had absolutely nothing to do with _you_ at all?"

He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think it had at least a little bit to do with me."

"Only in that you were _there_."

He stared down at her, and while part of him wanted to be angry, the bigger part realized that's exactly what she wanted to happen. She wanted to fight about it so that she could tell him to fuck off and use it as an excuse to never speak to him again. He wasn't interested in letting her.

"Look me in the face and tell me it meant nothing to you, Olivia, and we won't ever talk about it again. We'll be like strangers. Tell me it was a one night stand, no big deal, they happen every day. Say it and this becomes a non-issue."

"That is not at all fair—"

"Fairness has fuck all to do with it."

She spun away. "I told you the other night what I wanted. I never lied to you about that," she said in a low voice.

He let out a frustrated sigh. He was being a fucking jerk and a bully and he knew it. She hadn't lied to him, not really. So she hadn't wanted to tell him TM was the garage she meant. What did it matter, really? Obviously she knew he'd find out pretty fast. And why was he so pissed anyway? He'd wanted to see her again. Now he could see her every day. She was right across the parking lot.

So why did that feel further than across town? He was fucking everything up, and if he didn't do some serious damage control she probably _wouldn't_ speak to him again.

"Fuck. Olivia, listen, I—" He reached out to touch her arm, and the second his fingers brushed her skin she whirled around and went for her back pocket. He raised his hands to show he hadn't meant anything by it. "Whoa, hey, it's okay. I didn't mean—"

"Don't do that," she said. Her voice was soft but coated in steel. "Don't _lurk_ behind me—"

"_You_ turned your back on _me_!"

"And then touch me without my permission," she said as though he hadn't spoken. "Just. Don't."

He remembered, then, how she'd positioned herself at the bar: bottom part of the U, where she could see the room. He recalled the way her eyes had constantly scanned the place, and the way she'd never seemed fully relaxed. How spooked she'd been in the parking lot yesterday. What Gemma had said about her: _she's been through some shit_. He knew what she'd been reaching for: that big knife with the brass knuckles. It wasn't exactly a girly knife, and it was a little more proactive than mace.

"Jesus, Olivia," he said, brow furrowed, "what happened to you?"

Her eyes narrowed. She tilted her head and the silence stretched taut between them. "I don't need a hero, Juice." She pronounced each word with perfect, precise care.

"The way you handle that knife, I never really doubted it." He said it lightly, with a little shrug, and slid his hands into the pockets on his cut.

The off-handedness of it broke the tension, and she let out a confused laugh. Ran trembling hands over her face and shook her head. "Fuck, I'm acting crazy."

"Nah," he said. Grinned. "I was bein' a dick, so you weren't really out of line."

She blew out a long breath and fiddled with the wide, tight leather cuff she wore around her left wrist. He'd noticed it before and had almost asked about it, but something stopped him. Now when she caught him looking she let the hand drift behind her back and tucked the other one in her pocket.

"I meant what I said the other night. I had a good time. I'm pretty sure you did, too. But I'm here to work. I'm not a sweetbutt, and I'm sure as hell not an old lady. I'm a mechanic. That's it."

"No, I get that. I really do," he said with a sigh. "I'm not an asshole, Liv. I promise."

Her mouth quirked. "I have pretty good asshole radar. You wouldn't've made it back to my room, much less into my pants, if you'd set it off."

"No flies on you," he said. He dropped his chin to his chest and eyed her sidelong. "Can I ask you a question? Feel free not to answer."

She hesitated. Then, "Yeah, sure, why not?"

He took a step closer and she didn't shrink back. There was a challenge in her eyes and in the set of her mouth. He wondered, briefly, if he was about to make the type of blunder that you didn't come back from, but he decided to go for it anyway.

"Is Olivia Gable even your real name?" he said.

She looked up at him. Held his gaze without blinking for a long time. Finally her lips twisted in an ironic smile. "Olivia de Havilland and Clark Gable."

"From _Gone With the Wind_," he said.

Now she blinked. People rarely surprised her, but it seemed like Juice was a shock a minute. "Yeah. But I liked her better in _The Heiress_ and him better in _It Happened One Night_." A pause. "This stays between us, Juice."

He frowned. "C'mon, Liv, don't insult me."

She wondered when he'd started calling her _Liv_. She hadn't even noticed it happen.

"I'm not trying to insult you," she said. "I just…" She trailed off and bit her lip. "I'd like to stay here awhile. Do you understand? I'd like to make something of a life for myself."

"You wanna stop running from—" He gestured toward her side. Her tattoo.

She nodded, visibly relieved. "Yeah." A pause. "It's like…I'm not even thirty and I'm already so _tired_. I don't want to end up one of those people you see who are all used up and spent by thirty-five. Eighty percent dead by forty. All because they didn't ever bother to stop and—breathe, I guess. Just breathe."

"I get it," he said after a moment. "I love this life, you know? I wouldn't choose anything different. A fucking nine to five and a tie and a _cage_? I'd die or go nuts, shoot the place to hell or something."

His mouth twisted in a bemused grimace and he ran a hand over his head. "But at the same time…sometimes I feel like I'm just fumbling around. Like, groping in the dark." His brows drew together. "Does that make any sense?"

"We're all groping in the dark, Juice. It's the human condition."

"Is it, though? I mean, really? Because some people just seem to _belong_, like a lego snapping into place. Or like when you play Tetris and you've got everything all stacked up and you're just waiting for that one long piece…" He trailed off with a helpless little shrug.

His analogies made her want to grin, but she thought he'd take it wrong. Instead she said, "You have your place, though. Don't you? Here in Charming with the MC. You've got a family here."

"Yeah," he said, "yeah of course I do."

But his voice sounded hollow, and they both heard it. She understood, then, why he'd been in that bar the other night, alone and without his cut. He was almost as lost as she was, but there was a difference: he couldn't understand why he felt that way because by all rights he _shouldn't_. And so he stumbled.

She skimmed her fingers over the back of his hand, soft as a whisper. "My middle name really is _Jameson_. It was my grandfather's name. My dad's father. We were really close when I was a kid, so I kept it."

He looked up at her and his expression went through a swift series of transformations. "When I first read your license," he finally said, "I thought maybe it was a maiden name."

"Ha!" she said and clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes danced with mirth. "No. Not a maiden name. Marriage has never really…" She trailed off, laughing. "Just. No."

"Never met the right person, huh?" He said it lightly, with a grin.

"Something like that," she said. "That and I'm completely…" She shook her head. "I'm not the type of person people stick with."

"I find that hard to believe."

She lifted a shoulder. "I don't mean it in a self-pitying way. I usually don't _let_ them stick. A side effect of the running thing, I guess."

"Yeah," he said with a bittersweet smile, "that I do believe."

Somehow they'd drifted closer as they spoke, but he hadn't realized how close until she touched him. He lifted his hand—slowly, so she could stop him if she wanted to—and brushed his fingertips along the line of her jaw. Her eyes were a storm, but she didn't pull away as he raised her chin and lowered his mouth to hers. Their lips met, soft and achingly sweet, but when he would have deepened the kiss she pulled away.

"Please don't," she murmured.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"I know. It's okay. I just can't—"

"I know. You don't have to explain."

He searched her face. Her fingers gripped his cut. She let out a long breath and pushed away. "I'm sorry," she said. "Let's just—let's just do the tour thing, okay?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, Liv. That's cool." He shook his head and managed to dredge up a smile. "I guess we'll start with the office."

There passed between them then a moment of such perfect understanding that they might as well have spoken aloud:

_Thank you_, she said.

_For you?_ he said. _Anything._

* * *

_So, k, I've basically been trying forever to justify why Juice would be so ready to believe that the club would flip out because of his dad. It doesn't make sense, right? So then I thought...well, you know, what if it wasn't even really about that at all?_

_Hence Juice questioning his place this early on._


	5. Fury

Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! They help keep me fired up, and right now I have written through Ch. 8. I've got planned...um, several more after that, but I'm not entirely sure how many because it depends on how long they get.

* * *

**some of them were angry at the way the earth was abused  
by the men who learned how to forge her beauty into power  
and they struggled to protect her from them  
only to be confused  
by the magnitude of her fury in the final hour  
and when the sand was gone and the time arrived  
in the naked dawn only a few survived  
and in attempts to understand a thing so simple and so huge  
believed that they were meant to live after the deluge  
**-Jackson Browne, "Before the Deluge"

It was getting late and she could hear the crowd outside as it grew. Everyone was congregating in the lot, and unless she wanted to get caught up in whatever club-related shindig was going down, she knew she had to get out fast. She lowered the hood on the car she'd been working on and stripped off her thick black latex gloves. Stretched her arms over her head and winced as her sore elbow caught.

"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw," she muttered. All she wanted was a hot bath and something to eat. She didn't have a bathtub installed yet at her new house—she didn't even have _rooms_ at this point—and she couldn't cook for shit. Looked like it'd be takeout and a cold shower once again.

She heard a general banging and commotion coming from the office, and she peeked around the tool chest that was in her way. The guys had quickly learned not to sneak up on her, and since the time she'd threatened to hang bells around their necks they always made noise when coming and going.

That had been a week ago. She'd been here nearly a month, total, and in that time she'd melded in pretty well. The guys treated her with either a wary respect or steered clear altogether. She and Juice had established a tenuous friendship that—she was proud to note—didn't include sex. Gemma had helped her get the house for a steal, but the place was a pile and the seller knew it. Fixing it up was giving her a sense of home that she hadn't had in…well. A very long time.

She'd met Clay just once, and he'd struck her as both gruff and dangerous—but affable enough if you didn't fuck with him or his club. She had no intentions of doing either. Jax was distant but polite, and she could tell he didn't trust her yet. He couldn't figure out where she'd come from or who she was, and it bugged him.

Chibs had been friendly from the beginning, a slightly disconcerting combination of charm and almost fatherly concern, and she had a sense he was the one who kept the others away from her, maybe even more than the threat of Gemma's wrath.

Piney mostly ignored her. Bobby didn't come around the garage much, so she'd only seen him a handful of times. Half-sack, poor thing, dropped something every time she tried to talk to him, so she'd started to keep her distance. He was going to break something some day—maybe his own foot—and she didn't want to be responsible.

Tig and Opie were starting thaw. Tig because she kept kicking his ass at poker and Opie because…well, she wasn't sure what the deal was there. She liked him, maybe more than any of the others (except Juice, but that was a whole different, ridiculously complicated story), and he'd taken to dropping by the shop when she was working. Sometimes he picked up a wrench and puttered away at a bike or a car, but mostly he just sat, like a quiet mountain. Somehow his presence didn't unnerve her the way anyone else's would, and so when he showed up she simply nodded, kicked a stool his way, and got back to work.

"Liv?" Juice called from the doorway.

He couldn't see her around the chest, she realized. She shut the last drawer and popped out from behind it. "Hey. What's up?"

"Uh, not much. We were about to start a game. Wanna join?"

"Not sick of losing to me yet?" she said with a grin.

"I'm not. Tig's gettin' there. He's half convinced you cheat."

She blinked innocently. "I would never cheat, Juicy. I learned years ago that hustling pool and sweeping up at poker were better ways of making money than waiting tables. So I adapted."

That seemed to be the story of her life: adapting to whatever situation she found herself in. She'd adapted to a life lived hustling pool and cards. To a life on the run. And now, it would appear, to a life in Charming.

"Anyway," she said, "I can't. I'm trying to finish up so I can get out of here. I've just gotta take care of that nasty old van out in the lot."

"What van?"

"You didn't see it, Juicy boy?" Chibs said as he joined them from the office. He tossed a set of keys from hand to hand and grimaced. "Tow truck brought it in this morning and it's been sitting there all fucking day."

"I couldn't find any paperwork on it when I was looking earlier."

"Me neither," he said. "I was just gonna pull it in here for the night and we can take a look at it tomorrow."

"Oh, no, that's okay." She held out her hand for the keys. "I've got it. I'm technically still on the clock, and I'm sure you guys want to get to your…whatever it is." She waved toward the lot.

Chibs' eyes dropped from her face down to the arm she had extended toward him. He took careful note of the ugly purple bruise that dripped down from under her sleeve and curled around her elbow. "It's no problem, lass," he said. "You've done enough for one day."

Her head tilted. "What, this?" She let out a small huff of laughter. "No. It's nothing. I ran into the wall."

Juice lifted his brows. "Really, Liv?"

"Ollie girl," Chibs said, using the ridiculous nickname he'd coined for her within the first few days of her arrival, "you know we take care of our own around here, yeah? If you got anything that needs…_taking care_ of, you just haveta ask."

Her eyes darted between the two of them and it dawned on her that they'd planned this. They had cornered her in the garage, alone, to confront her about some mythical wife-beating boyfriend.

"Fuck," she muttered on a breath. Rolled her eyes and hooked her thumbs in her back pockets. "Look, guys, thanks, but really. I spent the weekend demo'ing my new place. I knocked out all the old lathe and plaster and now it's nothing but studs. Last night I was wandering around in the dark and mistook a gap between studs for an actual doorway. That's literally what happened."

Juice studied her through narrowed eyes. "You're serious?" he said.

"As a heart attack." Her mouth quirked and she dropped her chin. Scuffed the toe of her boot at a spot on the concrete floor. "One thing y'all should know about me: I made a promise a long time ago that the next man who raised a hand to me wouldn't live to take his next shit." She looked up with a smile that was deceptively sweet. "I always keep my promises, boys. It's a personal point of pride."

Neither of them missed the way she'd phrased it: _the next man_. So someone had, once. Juice wondered where that guy was.

Her expression softened and she relaxed into an easier stance. "It wasn't a big deal. I just bruise easy, like a ripe peach."

Chibs and Juice exchanged a look, and Chibs shrugged. "The lady's a delicate flower," he said.

Juice snorted and shook his head. "A delicate flower with a six inch switchblade."

"Think of it as a really big thorn," she said, grinning now. "Anyway, now that that's settled…" She trailed off and held out her hand again.

"Nah, lass, I've got it. Go on home and put some ice on that elbow."

She crinkled her nose. "I'm not actually a delicate flower, you know."

"Come on, Liv," Juice said. "I'll walk you to your car."

Sometimes it was easier just to give in. She'd learned pretty fast to pick your battles when it came to dealing with these guys—and not just the ones in Charming; every MC was different, but the type of man attracted to one varied only a little. She held her hands up in surrender. "Yeah, okay. Lock up behind you once you get it parked."

Chibs snorted. "I'm not _new_, Ollie."

The three of them walked out to the lot together, but once they were clear of the garage, Chibs peeled off one way and she and Juice went the other. She tucked her hands in her pockets, unconsciously mirroring him, and they strolled toward her car locked in an awkward, charged silence.

"We just wanted to make sure you're okay. Sack noticed your arm this morning and mentioned it to Tig. He—Tig, I mean—was ready to kill somebody right then. Chibs and I got him calmed down and said we'd talk to you about it."

Her lips twisted in a brief, appreciative smile. "Tig's moral code will never cease to confound me."

"It's pretty simple once you figure it out," Juice said. "Don't fuck with dogs. Don't beat up women. Don't rat." He hitched a shoulder. "Those are the three basic rules."

"The cornerstones of the Church of Tig. Good to know." They were at her car by then, and she leaned back against it, arms crossed.

"I know what you guys are about. I know how it works. But I—" She looked away. Back. "It's hard for me sometimes. I look after myself."

Juice sighed and scrubbed a hand over his mohawk. "Isn't that why you're here? So the MC can protect you?"

"That's different," she said with a shake of her head.

"No, Liv, it's really not."

She didn't want to argue with him, but it _was_. What she wanted from the MC was passive protection—anonymity and the security of knowing no one would sell her out if anyone came poking around. What Chibs and Juice had just offered was something else altogether. It meant the MC getting involved in her everyday life. Oozing into all those little nooks and crannies she tried to shore up against them.

It was the last thing she wanted.

"We just wanna look out for you," he said when she went quiet. "Why's that a bad thing?"

She looked at him with a raised brow. "_We_?"

He shuffled his feet and ducked his head. "The club, yeah. I guess maybe—I guess some of us more than others." When his eyes met hers again his expression was somehow both wry and self deprecating, and the combination made her laugh.

"Why don't you call me _Ollie_ like everyone else?" she said, seemingly apropos of nothing..

It surprised him, and his grin lit up his face and crinkled the corners of his eyes. He hitched a shoulder. "It doesn't suit you, that's all."

She opened her mouth to comment—something biting and pithy, she would think later—when it happened. Juice was facing her, his back to the lot, but she had a view of the van. Chibs had gotten held up by Tig as he passed, and he was just now getting to it. She watched him try to start it, but she was too far away to see the moment when he realized something was very wrong. Suddenly he was running, screaming at everyone to get down, and the next thing she knew the fucking thing blew.

Juice threw himself at her, and her breath was knocked out as she smashed into the side of the car. She stared, wide-eyed and horrified, as Chibs flew threw the air like a rag doll. There was screaming. The stench of fuel oil. The numbing roar of the fire. Her ears were ringing, and for a moment she didn't hear Juice yelling at her.

She blinked at him, stunned. "What?" she managed, choking a little as she tried to get her breath back.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Why would I be hurt?" she said, genuinely confused. Chibs was hurt. Chibs might be dead. Chibs might be dead because he'd tried to do something nice for her.

Juice shot a glance over his shoulder and then looked back at her. He held her face between his hands and stared hard. His brown eyes were wide and frightened, his voice hoarse. "I gotta go, Liv. I gotta check on Chibs. I gotta make sure everyone is okay. Stay here. Understand me? _Stay the fuck here_."

"Go," she said. "I'm fine. Go." She swallowed hard. "I can't stay. The cops will be here. I have to go, Juice. I can't—"

"Fuck," he said, violently. "Then just wait a second, okay? I'll be right back. I'll take you home."

Her brow creased. "You think you're gonna drive my car?"

"Jesus fuck, Olivia, priorities! We'll take my bike. Just. Fucking. _Wait_!"

His desperation finally penetrated the fog. She gripped him so hard her knuckles went white. "Yeah, okay, I'll wait," she said. "If I see cops, I'm gone. But I'll wait as long as I can."

"Good." He planted a rough kiss on her forehead and gently pried her fingers off his wrists. "I'll be back," he said and took off across the lot.

The others were all gathered around Chibs, and she couldn't really see what was happening. Jax was knelt next to him, and Tara had joined him only a few seconds later. Olivia crossed her arms over her chest and grasped her elbows. Hissed in pain when she hit the bruise.

"A delicate flower," she murmured. She gasped out a laugh. It suddenly struck her as hilarious, the absurdity of it. The pointlessness. With a growl of rage she knelt on the pavement and laughed until her sides ached.

* * *

Jax barely seemed to hear when Juice told him he had to take Olivia home. His blue eyes looked blank and dazed, and he pivoted his head toward Juice and blinked.

"What?" he said.

It reminded him so much of the scene with Olivia he nearly choked. Instead he cleared his throat and tried again. "I gotta take her home, Jax. She's fuckin' spooked by the cops for some reason, and she's in no condition to drive. She's in shock or something."

_Spooked by the cops_. Weren't they all? Jax made a mental note through the muddle in his brain to question Gemma a bit harder. Or maybe Clay. Clay knew at least part of the story, why this girl was apparently under their protection and why it was important to keep her away from the cops. She wasn't an old lady—or a former old lady—and besides her uncanny knack for fixing nearly anything broken, she didn't seem to have anything overly special about her.

She was just a girl. A girl who'd spent the last five years bouncing from charter to charter like some sort of hot potato until she'd finally ended up in Charming. Redwood Original. Maybe next they could send her to fucking Belfast.

"Yeah, Juice," he said. "Get her out of here. Hale's like a dog with a goddamn bone, and we don't want him nosin' in on the legit side of things too."

He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked back at the smoldering remains of the van. "Keep your phone on and close. Clay'll probably want us back here as soon as we get Chibs to the hospital."

"Call me the second you know anything," Juice said, his eyes trained on their brother's prone form. A pool of blood formed around his head like a halo, and it was way too big for comfort. Tara was still working on him, but it was obvious there wasn't much she could do for him here. At this point they were just waiting for the ambulance and hoping he could hold on.

"Go on," Jax said and jerked his chin toward the Cougar.

Gemma stepped up next to her son and watched as Juice darted back across the lot. "Where's he goin'?" she said.

"Take Ollie home." He pinned her with a level look. "You wouldn't know why she's so freaked out by the cops, would you?"

Gemma met his eyes easily, and her mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Ask Clay. He knows more than I do."

"Bullshit. You called the play on this one."

"Maybe I did," she said, "but it's Clay's decision how much the club knows about it, not mine. The girl has a right to her secrets, Jax. We all do."

"Not if they're a danger to this club."

Gemma rolled her eyes. "Here's an idea: _ask_ her. Maybe she'll tell you." With that she turned her back on him and marched back to the others. Tig slipped his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. Jax stood a few steps apart, his eyes on Chibs and Tara, and the roar of sirens filled his ears like a banshee's wail.

* * *

_This is the shortest chapter so far, but the next several are a good deal longer. I had the option of either making this a huge mega monster chapter or cutting it a little short, so I went with the latter._

_Also this'll give you a better idea of what I meant by "reframing events."_

_Oh, AND, I'm trying to keep the reveal about Olivia pretty slow, but the next few chapters will pretty much complete the picture._


	6. Ghosts

Longer chapter this time, and a bit more info about Olivia.

Toss me a review if you're having fun. Or, I mean, even if you're not. :/

* * *

**well i know it's hard to tell**  
**but I can save you from this spell**  
**i can help you get right through**  
**stick around like super glue**

**dig them ghosts up from the grave**  
**throw them bones into the waves**  
**oh, baby, you don't have to worry**  
**i'm built for comfort, not for hurry**  
-Bob Schneider, "Honeypot"

Juice could feel her shivering against his back, and he wished he'd thought to offer her his hoodie before they left. She probably wouldn't have taken it. She only took the helmet because he shoved it on her head in the middle of her protests. She was stubborn as hell, and he was beginning to understand why she insisted she wasn't old lady material.

He followed the directions she shouted in his ear. Her house was just inside the Charming town line, but there wasn't anything else near it, really. The houses on her street were far apart and there were no streetlights. He realized with a grim sense of the inevitable that from now on he was going to worry about her out here all alone on this dark, quiet street.

He knew she wouldn't appreciate the sentiment.

Or maybe she would, secretly, but she'd never admit it.

He pulled into the driveway she indicated and cut the engine. The house was a small Spanish style bungalow. The roof was missing tiles (he could tell even in the moonlight) and the yard was weedy. The driveway was cracked and buckled, and he wondered that she let her beloved car park on it.

"It's a work in progress," she said at his look. She took the helmet off and hung it on the handlebars. "Thanks for the ride. Um, I guess...I'll see you later."

"You gettin' rid of me?" he said, lifting his brows.

She hesitated. Frowned. "I just thought—I figured you'd need to get back. For—for Chibs. For the club."

"The club knows where I am if they need me, and Jax said he'd call the minute they knew anything about Chibs."

Her expression clouded and she looked away. "So he was…?"

"Breathing. Unconscious. That's all I know, really." He didn't tell her about the blood. She didn't need to hear about that.

"Come on. Let me take you inside and I'll make you a cup of tea." He held out his arm, but she just stared down at his hand like she didn't understand what he was saying.

"Tea?"

"Yeah. You don't drink coffee, right?"

She looked up at him. Tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "How do you know that?"

"I pay attention, Liv." He gestured toward the house. "Come on. We can't stand out here in the yard all night."

At last she nodded and started toward the house. She dug in her pocket for the keys, and he couldn't help but notice the brand new, heavy door and the number of locks she had on it. Apparently that had been an early priority. She let him in ahead of her (as she always did; she hated having anyone at her back) and locked the door behind them.

"Well," he said. "You weren't kidding." Definitely a work in progress. There were no walls, just studs. The floors were covered in plastic sheeting, but beneath it he could make out scuffed and scarred hardwood. There was a fireplace on one wall, and she'd managed to keep the original tile intact: white and blue and yellow, surrounded by red terra cotta.

"I hated ripping out all the plaster," she said. "But the wiring is shit. Even if it weren't fifty years old, mice got in and chewed it all to hell. I almost burned the place down the first time I turned on a light. The whole thing has to be rewired.

"Also there's asbestos around the pipes, so that'll have to be replaced. It was either rip out the walls completely or try and patch up all the damage. I figure I'll do a plaster surface over the drywall to get some of the character back."

He hadn't heard anything after _asbestos_. "Asbestos?" he repeated, alarmed.

She waved a hand. "It's only dangerous if you disturb it, and I haven't touched it. We're perfectly safe. It has to come out for the house to pass inspection, though."

"Oh." A crease formed between his brows. "Where did you learn how to do all this stuff?"

A quick shrug. "Here and there. And I've always been good with my hands."

He opened his mouth to reply but shut it again. It was probably safer if he just let that one lie.

There were two lawn chairs set in the middle of what was probably supposed to be the living room—the fireplace was a clue—and he herded her toward them. "Sit down. I'll get that tea." He frowned. "You do have running water in here, don't you?"

She glared up at him. "Of course I do. Only a microwave to cook with, though."

"That's about my speed. Stay here. I'll be right back." He started toward the kitchen and stopped short. "Where's the—oh." One gap between the studs was a bit wider than the others and didn't have wires running across it. That must be the doorway. This place was like an obstacle course.

"Now you understand how I hurt my arm," she said, and he could hear the smirk in her voice without even looking at her.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered.

The microwave was set on a folding card table. Next to it was a stack of paper plates and bowls, plastic utensils, and two coffee mugs. There was a box of teabags. Some microwave popcorn. Quaker instant grits. _Grits? _He shook his head, mystified.

He managed to coax water out of the reluctant tap, and a few minutes later he was back with one of the mugs, now giving off mint-scented steam. "Quite a setup you've got here," he said with a nod toward the air mattress he could see through the studs.

She rolled her eyes. "Fuck you, Ortiz," she said without heat.

He grinned and sat down in the other chair. Stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "Jesus. What a fucking night."

"Y'all get car bombed often?" she said, eyeing him over her mug.

"This is a first."

"That's some small comfort, at least." She gripped the mug with both hands and stared down into the pale liquid. It smelled good. Comforting. Her clothes smelled like smoke even though she'd been far away from the blast. Or maybe Juice's had, and she'd picked up the scent while they were pressed together on his bike.

"I'm okay, Juice, really. You can go if you need to. I'm just gonna take a shower and try to get some sleep."

He wanted to ask her about her issue with the cops, but he figured she wouldn't answer. He knew he didn't want to leave her alone, though. Not yet. She'd been too shaky and out of it since the explosion, and he thought she could use the company—whether she really liked it or not.

"It's okay. I don't have anywhere else to be."

"That's bullshit." She paused. Then, "You and Chibs are close, right?"

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "He sponsored me to become a prospect. He's the reason I'm in the club."

"Oh," she said. When she raised her head the look on her face stopped his heart. "I'm sorry, Juice, I'm so sorry. It should've been me."

"What…? Olivia, no, Christ." He leaned forward and reached for her, but stopped himself. His hand hovered in the air between them before he pulled it back with an awkward little shrug.

"Look, Liv, don't even say that. Fucking Zobelle and his fucking white supremacist dickbags decided to take a swipe at us, and Chibs just happened to be the one to start that car. It could've been any of us. It could've been you. Sack. Ope. _Me_. Anybody. Don't think—"

His face scrunched and he looked away. Cleared his throat and tried again.

"Don't think for a second that I'd trade you for him. Of course I fucking well wish it hadn't happened at all, but I'd never wish it had been _you_."

Her bright eyes—the precise green of new leaves, he'd decided—searched his face for a long time. Finally, "But you love him."

"Of course I do. He's my brother."

"Yeah. And I'm nobody."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "I wouldn't trade either of you, okay? You're not nobody. You matter." He broke off. Then, "To me. You matter to me."

"Oh," she said again, softly. She started to say something else, but his ringing phone interrupted her.

He flashed an apologetic grimace and fished for it. "Fuck. It's Clay. I gotta go. Are you sure—?"

"I said I'm fine, Juicy. Go on."

He studied her. "Yeah, okay," he said slowly. "Call me if you need anything. I'll pick you up tomorrow, okay?"

"Tomorrow? Why?"

He lifted his brows. "Your car's at the garage, remember?"

"Oh fuck. Right. I open so get here early."

"Yes, ma'am." He was halfway to the door when he stopped. She'd stood up to follow him—no doubt to lock the door behind him—and the look on her face when he spun back around was wary.

"Don't kill me," he said.

He pulled her to him, one hand on her waist and the other curled in the hair at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were wide, surprised, but not frightened. He took that as a good sign. "I'm going to kiss you," he said, just in case. She could still go for that knife, after all.

Her mouth quirked. "I figured. Get on with it, would you? You're ruining the moment."

He laughed softly and bent his head. Just before their lips met he let his eyes trace over the lines of her face. She let out a breath and a flush spread across her cheeks. When he kissed her, he could feel her smile against his mouth. Her lips were chapped and she tasted like mint and smelled, faintly, of smoke. He drank her in like a drowning man.

She brushed her fingers along his jaw, pressed her other hand to his chest, and kissed him back. She let herself forget everything for a few wild, frantic heartbeats and just enjoyed the feel of his mouth against hers. She wanted him to stay. She needed him to leave.

"I have to go," he whispered, his breath hot on her skin. He kissed her again; pulled her body into him tighter.

"I know." Again. His tongue brushed hers and she pulled away. "I know." But then her lips were on his and they both forgot why it was so urgent that he leave.

He traced a burning path down the side of her throat. Flicked his tongue against her and nipped at the soft skin. She ran her hand over his head and murmured his name.

His phone rang again. He jerked back with a curse. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"Fuck," he said, frustrated.

"It's better. We shouldn't—we're both just upset. This isn't—"

"I know," he interrupted gently. He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers. "Remember what I said. If you need anything—"

"You worry too much."

"That's right," he said. "You can take care of yourself."

"Bingo."

He kissed her again, a quick peck, and straightened. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," she said, her smile hazy. "Tomorrow."

Her voice stopped him at the door. "Juice?"

He cast a questioning look over his shoulder.

"Be careful. You matter to me, too."

"Yes, ma'am," he said again, with a grin. The door closed behind him and she reset the locks. A moment later she heard his bike start. She stood listening until the engine's growl faded. It took a long time on such a quiet street, but she didn't mind.

Sometimes the silence was unnerving, and she knew tonight would be one of those nights.

* * *

He was back at eight thirty the next morning, and he approached her door warily. He hoped she wouldn't be pissed about last night. She hadn't seemed mad when he left, but maybe over night her mood had changed. He took a deep breath and knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Her voice floated to him from inside, telling him to_ hang on a minute goddammit!_ He grinned and knocked a third time, harder.

A moment later the door flew open and she glared up at him. "Fuck you, Ortiz. Seriously."

"You told me to be early," he said with wide, innocent eyes.

She spun away and it was only then he realized her hair was down. It hung almost to her hips, a thick wave of red-gold that smelled like mint and…lavender? Yeah. Mint and lavender. It caught the early sun and glinted like molten copper. He thought she looked like one of those paintings. He didn't know enough about art give the idea a name, but the sort of dreamy-looking ones with ladies whose clothes billowed.

"Come in. I'll be another few minutes." She cut a look over her shoulder. "What? You're catching flies."

He shut his mouth with a _clack_ and ducked his head. "Um, nothing. I just—I always wondered—" He stuttered to a stop and pointed at his head.

"Oh. Yeah. I had to wash it last night because of the smell. So. Anyway. I'll be right back."

She wound her way through the studs into the bedroom. He could see a mirror hanging on the back "wall", and it was there she stopped. He watched in fascination as her nimble fingers created two long braids. She groped in her pocket for pins and twisted each braid up into a bun and secured them in place. It took five minutes. Maybe less. He couldn't help but be impressed even as part of him wanted to pull the pins out and unwind the braids and bury his hands in all that hair as he—

_Not_ really an appropriate thought. He ducked his head and turned away, afraid she'd read his thoughts on his face. He should've asked Tig to come pick her up. After last night it was like all the progress he'd made toward getting her out of his head was just erased. He could still taste her. He could swear the scent of her hair still clung to his helmet.

"Hey," she said, "you ready?"

He spun around, pasting on a smile. "Yep. You?"

Her mouth quirked. "I think so."

She had pulled her jacket on over her work shirt, and now she zipped it to her chin. Her jeans, he noticed, had a hole in the knee. He eyed it a moment then looked up at her.

She shrugged a shoulder. "Yeah, I know. They're my last clean pair, though. I've gotta hit the laundromat tonight. Come on." She jerked her head toward the door.

It was a brisk morning, and she was glad for the jacket as she stepped outside. The cool would burn off by noon, she knew. This part of California had nearly perfect weather all the time. In all honesty she missed seasons. She hadn't lived anywhere with four proper seasons in three years or so, and sometimes the constant sunshine and mild temperatures made her antsy—though she had to admit it was a nice change from Las Cruces' searing days and frosty nights.

"I brought you your own helmet so we wouldn't have to argue about it," he said.

"Thanks." She took it from him with a wry grin and strapped it on. She hesitated. "You know, I really hate motorcycles."

He snorted out a laugh. "Jesus, Liv. You really _aren't_ old lady material, are you?"

"Told you."

He regarded her a moment, his eyes intense and dark. Something about that look unsettled her, and it took all her concentration not to squirm. Or blush.

"I don't know," he said, "I have a feeling you're gonna change your mind about that some day."

Her head tilted and her lips curved. "Now why would I do that?" she said.

He shrugged and swung a leg over his bike. "Don't know, Liv," he said over his shoulder. "People change sometimes, don't they?"

She mounted up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He started the engine and revved it a few times before he peeled out of the driveway. She took a deep breath, savoring the bouquet of fresh air and warm leather.

"Yeah, Juicy," she said, quietly so he wouldn't hear her over the combined roar of the wind and the bike, "I guess sometimes they do."

* * *

She had lost track of time installing a new transmission in an old Mustang, and somehow it had gotten late without her noticing. She was exhausted after her fitful sleep the night before and she realized she'd forgotten to eat lunch. Her stomach growled angrily and she rolled her eyes. Demanding prima donna.

Night had fallen outside and the lights in the lot were only half-lit. It had been a weird day. Tense and quiet and sad. Not many customers, and some sort of farcical, Keystone-Cops-style attempt to keep a forensics team away from the van's remains. She'd stayed inside and out of sight most of the day. She knew Chief Unser was a friend of the club, but still. She didn't want to tempt him into curiosity.

She locked the door behind her and peeked into the office. Empty and dark. Gemma had probably gone home already, but it was weird for her to not poke her head in the garage to say goodnight. Maybe she was in the clubhouse, or at the hospital keeping watch over Chibs.

Olivia had just turned her back on the building when a voice spoke from the darkness.

"Hey," it said, gruff and weary.

She froze. Slowly reached behind her back and slid a hand into her pocket. She turned toward the speaker, but all she could see was the flare of a cigarette as he took a long drag. Her eyes narrowed. "Who's there? It's not nice to lurk in the dark and sneak up on people."

He snorted and stepped into the light. "It's just me, Ollie. Relax."

Jax. She eased her hand away from the knife and let her shoulders loosen. "You startled me, that's all."

"Uh huh." He held out the cigarette. "You're wound too tight."

She shook her head. He shrugged, took one last puff, and dropped the butt. He lowered his head like the act of grinding it out took all his concentration, but he flicked his eyes up to her face as he blew out a long stream of smoke. His expression was tense, his movements jerky, and she thought if anyone would know about being wound too tight, it was Jackson Teller.

"How's Chibs?" she said for lack of anything else. The silence had grown uncomfortable, so even though she'd been getting updates from Sack most of the day, she figured it was a safe enough subject.

He rubbed a hand over his chin and shook his head. "Still in a coma. They said surgery went well, and at this point it's just a waiting game." His forehead crinkled. "Either he wakes up or he doesn't."

"Ahh," she said on a low breath. Then, "It's late, Jax. What are you doing out here all alone?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. His smile was at odds with the coldness in his eyes, and she shivered. "I was waiting for you," he said. His tone was affable enough, but she didn't trust it.

"Why? Worried I'd get lost in the dark?"

"I don't know. Maybe." He looked toward the clubhouse, but she could tell he wasn't really seeing it. "You know, it's weird. I can't get a straight answer about you from anybody. My mom says to ask Clay. Clay says to ask Gemma. Juice says he doesn't know a fucking thing, even though he follows you around like a lost puppy."

Her back went stiff. "He does not—"

"Come on, Ollie. You don't bullshit me and I won't bullshit you, yeah?"

She let out a breath. "Fair enough," she said, careful to keep her tone neutral.

"All I wanna know is if you're a danger to this club. That's all I care about. You're good at your job and anybody who has an opinion seems to think you're okay."

"Then why are you worried?"

"Why are you afraid of the cops?" he countered.

"Anyone with sense is afraid of the cops."

He acknowledged the truth in that with a wry flick of his brow. Then, turning serious again, "You're avoiding the question. Just like everybody else."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "First of all, Juice really _doesn't_ know anything, so stop bugging him about it. Secondly, I honestly have no idea how much Clay and Gemma know. I haven't told them anything, and I don't know how much Big Pete said."

"Okay…?"

"I'm here for protection, Jax. Are you down with that or not?"

"It all depends on protection from what."

She regarded him with a keen, wary gaze. The silence stretched so long he was sure she wouldn't answer, and it surprised him when she finally did.

"When I was eighteen years old I ran away from home," she said abruptly. "My mother died when I was fifteen and my dad never really recovered from it. I met a guy—typical—and he seemed too good to be true." She shrugged. "Turns out he was.

"I stayed with him for almost seven years because I didn't have any other choice. I was twenty-four when I finally decided enough was enough, and I ran."

He scowled. "You're on the run from some abusive asshole ex? Seriously? What do the cops have to do with any of this?"

"His father was well-connected. An important man back where I'm from. And a dangerous one," she said after a brief hesitation.

"So you think daddy might've sic'ed the cops on you because you broke his baby boy's heart."

Her mouth twisted. "Something like that."

There had to be more to the story. Something she wasn't telling him. He stepped closer. Loomed over her and glared down hard. When she looked up, her face was smooth, guileless; but he recognized the steely glint in her eye. His mother got that look sometimes. Gemma, though, had never been as deceptively _soft_ as this girl. What you saw with Gemma Morrow was what you got. It was a trait he appreciated.

"I won't let him find me, Jax," she said, her voice quiet but firm.

"How do you know he's still looking? It's been five years."

"He's still looking. I promise you that much."

"He must really love his kid."

"Yeah." Her smile was more like a grimace. "Yeah, he sure as fuck must."

Their eyes met, and she knew he suspected she hadn't been completely honest. And she hadn't been, not by half. It was all just details, though: her own private bullshit to wrestle with; and it was none of his business. Well. Except for one thing, maybe. A detail Jax probably wouldn't consider so minor.

She knew Teddy Flanary was still looking for her because on the day she walked out of their lives forever, she'd shot Teddy Jr.—her abusive asshole ex—three times. Once in the cock. Once in the heart. Once in the head.

Three minuscule flicks of her finger and she'd obliterated everything he'd ever used to fuck her.

* * *

_Um. Maybe Juice is biting off more than he can chew with this girl._


	7. A Heart Lost

Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter! If you don't mind, check out the fairly long end notes after this one for a wee bit o' clarification.

Also, if you'd like, you can find me on tumblr at halinacrown. I post all my fic there, as well as graphics/gifsets from multiple fandoms and, I don't know. Cute cats and shit.

This chapter is bittersweet, and it's the last bit of "aww" before things turn pretty fuckin angsty for a bit. So, um. Enjoy!

* * *

**got a heart lost in kindness  
a mind that's mostly mindless  
i can hold you up for air  
****i won't let you down i swear**  
-Bob Schneider, "Honeypot"

It was her day off, and she was going to the hospital. She hated hospitals, as cliché as that was, and she wondered if she weren't making a mistake. Was this weird? Maybe she shouldn't have gotten the flowers. But they were pretty. And if you were gonna go cliché, you might as well go all the way.

She stopped by the nurse's desk and a harried-looking woman glanced up with a distracted smile. "Help you, honey?" she said.

"Yeah, I'm looking for Juan Ortiz. He's on this floor somewhere, but I…" She trailed off and gestured at the huge map on the wall behind her.

"I was just about to go check on him," another nurse said. "Follow me."

Olivia fell in step behind her and struggled to keep up. The woman was about Olivia's height, but she strode the halls like a battle general. After a few turns she stopped at a door just like all the rest and knocked. Didn't wait for an answer before she burst in.

"Juan Carlos, _chico_, _como estas_?"

"I told you I don't speak Spanish," he said, sounding irritable. "And it's _Juice_."

"You will by the time you leave here, I promise. Look, _chico_, you've got a visitor." She waved Olivia into the room, checked Juice's blood pressure numbers and his IV, and then scooted out. "He's on a lot of meds," she whispered as she passed Olivia. "He might not make much sense."

"He doesn't make much sense on a good day."

"I heard that!" Juice said.

The nurse rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her. Olivia took a deep breath, summoned up a smile, and spun around.

"Hey, you," she said.

He was pale and sort of fuzzy-eyed, with dark circles under his eyes and an IV snaking up his arm. His hair had grown in around his mohawk and it made him look younger. That combined with the generic hospital gown gave him the air of a wayward orphan. Oliver Twist gets shivved. She didn't think anyone would realize he was a badass biker in his other life—except maybe for the tattoos.

"Liv." A slow grin unfurled across his face. "You came to visit me."

"I certainly did," she said. She held up the potted plant. "I even brought flowers."

He grinned even harder, kind of drunkenly. "Flowers. They're pretty." They were bright yellow and cheerful, with small, happy faces and a burst of petals on each one.

"That's what I thought," she said. She stepped deeper into the room and looked around with a frown. It was cold and sterile. Empty. At least he didn't have a roommate, but— "Am I the only one who's been to see you?"

"Huh? Oh. No. Chibs came by yesterday." He gestured to the corner by the bed. "He brought that."

Olivia blinked. A jaunty blue balloon floated there, one of the mylar kind you got at the gift shop. It had a fat, grinning baby on it, diaper swaddled, with a perfect blond curl on its perfect cartoon forehead. _It's a Boy!_ huge powder-blue letters proclaimed.

"Umm…?"

"Kind of an inside joke," Juice said.

"Right." She stood awkwardly, holding the flower pot and casting about for something to say. "So the nurse is trying to teach you Spanish?"

"Trying," he said with an affable shrug. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. "I think she thinks I'm cute."

Her mouth curved in a wry smile. "You are cute, sometimes." She relaxed a little and set the flowers on the bedside table. "When your mouth isn't screwing it up."

"Isn't that from _The Goonies_?"

"Sort of," she said.

He craned his head around so he could see the flowers. "Real pretty. What kind are they?"

"Button mums. For fall." She hesitated. "My mom used to plant them in her garden every year. I thought they would cheer you up."

"They do." He blinked at her, his expression puzzled. "You look real pretty, too."

She was wearing high-wasted navy blue trousers and a gauzy white blouse that ended just where the pants began. When she moved he caught a flash of skin, a different shade of pale than her top. He could see the shadow of her tattoo through the light material. The bruise on her elbow was mostly faded, finally, but there was a new one on her upper arm. She really did bruise like a peach.

"Thanks," she said. "It's my day off. I try to look as little like the garage as possible in my real life."

"You look like one of those girls from those posters."

She stared at him. "Posters?"

"Yeah, you know." He saluted. "Buy war bonds! From the forties, like."

"Ohh. Yeah. That's kind of what I was going for."

"Good job," he said with another wide grin.

She muffled a laugh. The nurse hadn't been kidding about the meds.

"So, Liv," he said, "what brings you by?"

"Oh, you know. I was in the neighborhood, with a plant, and thought, _hey, there's the hospital! I wonder if there are any doped up Puerto Rican bikers feeling lonely and pitiful?_ And I decided to stop in."

She snorted at his expression. "I came to see you, you idiot. The other guys got out and you weren't with them. Tig told me what happened, and I thought you could use some company."

"Oh. That's nice." His eyes were back on the flowers. "Your mom planted them every year?" he said. "They aren't the…whatchacallit kind? The kind that come back?"

"Perennials. No. They're fall annuals. She was obsessed with her garden, and every season she cycled in new annuals. Impatiens and geraniums for spring and summer; pansies for winter; button and spider mums and marigolds for fall."

"You're from the South, right? Originally?"

She frowned. "How do you—"

"It's in the way you talk, sometimes. Right there, when you said marigolds." He pronounced it _mary-golds_, three distinct syllables. When she said it she almost swallowed the long _e_, shortened it to a quick breath and skipped past it: _mare'golds_.

"You also say _y'all_."

"A lot of people say _y'all_," she said with a little scowl.

"I guess." He shrugged a shoulder. "It's not often. Just sometimes. You don't really have much of an accent at all."

Her eyebrows flicked upward. "Good," she said, and that was all.

"You can sit down, if you want. The chair's kinda shit, but the bed's okay. It's one of those air mattress things that adjusts to you, so it's like your ass has its own personal cloud."

"Well there's an offer too intriguing to refuse," she said, dryly.

She stepped out of her shoes and scooted onto the foot of the bed. Pulled her dangling legs up to sit with them crossed in front of her. She faced the door rather than him, and he took the opportunity to drink in the clean, Classical lines of her profile: high forehead, straight nose, strong chin. Her hair was in the same style as the night they met, and the long braid dangled over her shoulder.

"You're thinking about something you don't want to talk about," he said.

She glanced at him, startled. Pink brushed across her cheeks and he knew he was right.

"You've got a tell."

Her eyes went wide. "I do not."

"You do. It's subtle, but you do." She just stared, so he hurried on. "When you're thinking like that, sometimes you do this sorta nose-scrunchy thing. Just a little. Like whatever you're thinking about…has a weird smell or something."

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I never noticed," she said, frowning.

"Like I said: subtle. Barely noticeable, really."

Her head tilted. "You noticed." Her tell (which she still sort of refused to believe). Her accent. What else had he picked up on when she wasn't paying attention?

"Yeah, well." He threw out his hands in a shrug. "I spend way too much time looking at you, what can I say?"

"Hmm," she said, a soft noise of amusement.

They sat quietly a moment, and the silence was easy and full. He was content just to look at her in his drowsy, dreamy state. She was wearing more makeup than usual (another day off thing, he figured), and her lips were a bold red contrast to her pale skin. She had her nose scrunched again, but this time she caught it and her face went smooth.

"You gonna tell me, or just sit there brooding about it?"

His voice seemed to startle her. "Oh," she said, "it's not—"

"Don't say it's not important. Come on, Liv. Take pity on a wounded man and spill it."

Another brief chuckle. Then, quietly, "Hospitals always remind me of my mom. It's so stupid." She rolled her eyes. "Everyone hates hospitals, right? Sick people and bad food and no privacy. What a fucking cliché."

"Yeah, well, clichés are clichés for a reason."

Her only acknowledgement was a brief quirk of her brow, like a nod without moving her head. She still faced the door, but she wasn't looking at it. Her eyes were trained on some point in the middle-distance, and they had that sort of glazed look he remembered from the night of the explosion.

"What happened to her?" he said. "Your mom?"

The question seemed to bring her back. She looked his way and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. "We were in a wreck. One of those stupid random things, you know?" She rolled her eyes. "So fucking pointless."

He thought she wouldn't say any more. She dipped her head and fiddled with the cuff on her wrist. He watched her carefully. Waited her out. He hoped she would keep talking, but he knew if he tried to pry it out of her she'd probably never tell him.

"I was fifteen," she said abruptly. "She'd picked me up early from school because it was my birthday. We were gonna go shopping, have lunch, maybe see a movie. She was finally going to let me get my ears pierced. She was really old-fashioned and thought it was tacky for young girls to have pierced ears, but I'd been begging for ages and had finally worn her down from eighteen to fifteen."

"Huh. You don't wear earrings."

She had pierced ears, but in the full month-plus he'd known her he'd never seen her wear earrings. He figured it was partly a garage thing—better not to have anything dangling that could catch on something—but today, when she was in non-work mode, he thought she'd be wearing some. If she were going to.

She tugged at an earlobe with a distracted frown. "They're mostly closed up now. This was done…later."

_Was done._ As in done _to_ her. She had other tells, too. Certain turns of phrase. Every word she spoke was important, meant something, and if you really paid attention you could learn about twice as much as she actually ever said. He decided not to mention that.

She raised her head. Her face was still, but her fingers had dropped down to toy with the cuff again. "We had the music cranked up in her car. Hootie and the Blowfish," she said with a sardonic little smile. "This truck just—he just fucking ran a red light. That's all. Hit the passenger side and drove our car into a telephone pole."

"Jesus," he said with a wince.

"Yeah."

He caught the flash of the dimple in her chin. Not a happy dimple this time; her smile was bitter, her face dark.

"I broke my hip, femur, and a couple of ribs. They had me in traction, knocked out pretty hard. They had to operate a couple of times." A quick shake of her head and she waved it away. "Anyway, I was so blotto from all the drugs and stuff it was over a week before I even knew she was gone. They said she died right away, but who knows. Maybe that's just what they tell the kid, no matter what."

He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "Is that why you got your tattoo? To cover the scars and stuff?"

She looked at him then, and he could read the relief on her face. He knew from his own mother's death that words of comfort were pointless, and _I'm sorry_ only pissed you off. Of course you're fucking sorry. Everyone's fucking sorry. It doesn't help a goddamn thing.

"That was part of it," she said. "Not the scars. I don't care about the scars. That just worked out because I had an amazing artist. But, yeah, I got it on this side on purpose. The side that aches when it rains or gets creaky after a long walk. But the tattoo itself…" Her shoulders rippled. "It's for a lot of things."

"Like that?" He pointed at the cuff she hadn't stopped messing with.

Her hands stilled and her eyes turned sharp. "Ahh, well. Let's not talk about that, okay? One Hallmark moment per visit."

"Yeah, okay. Fair enough," he said, his head bobbing in a sort of half-nod.

A crease formed between her brows. "You look wrecked, Juicy. I should go and let you sleep." She started to slide off the bed, but he held out a hand to stop her.

"Don't leave. Keep talking. Tell me about your mom's garden."

"You really want to hear about that?"

"It sounds nice," he said. "I grew up in an apartment. We had some dinky potted plant in the window, but no such thing as a garden."

"Mmm. Okay, then. Close your eyes."

He did and let his head fall back against the pillow. Her voice was soft and warm, soothing like honey, and he could see the pictures her words painted. She talked about rose bushes and hydrangeas (whatever those were) and her mom's struggle to grow a pink dogwood. Apparently the soil wasn't right. She could grow white ones all day, but the pink ones always died. Who knew dirt mattered so much?

When he woke up hours later she was gone, and part of him wondered if he hadn't dreamt the whole thing. Then he turned his head and saw the sunny flowers. _Button mums,_ he thought. For fall.

A nurse came in—a different one from earlier—and adjusted the pinchy thing on his finger. Messed with his pillows and smoothed his blankets.

"You need anything, hon?" she said.

"No," he told her. "No, I'm real good."

* * *

Juice was tired of being in the hospital. He was sick of the food and the nurses' constant coming and going. He was sick of the stupid hospital gown that left his ass flapping in the wind every time he got up to take a piss. The lights were too bright and his head itched as his hair grew in and he missed his bike and the club and beer.

The TV only got like four channels and they all sucked. He had paused to watch a lion take down a zebra when Bobby and Jax burst in on him. He'd been thrilled to see them, but his excitement vanished once they told him the reason for their visit.

Jax had just left, and Bobby lowered himself into the chair beside the bed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"It's some fucked up shit, Juicy," he said after a moment, his voice gruff and thick.

Juice shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed. He didn't want to fucking cry in front of Bobby. "Is he really gonna do this? Go Nomad and just leave?"

Bobby lifted his hands in a helpless shrug. "Yeah. I guess so. Like you said, it's been comin' for a while. I don't know why we're all so surprised."

He glanced over, his brow furrowed and his eyes still over-bright. "He and Clay have been butting heads for ages. I didn't think he'd actually leave." He swallowed. "Does Gemma know?"

"Pretty sure Tara told her," he said with a sigh. "She might be Jax's mama and Clay's old lady, but she's still _just_ an old lady. It's not her decision."

_Just an old lady, _Juice thought. What a thing to say about Gemma Morrow. Yeah, technically it was true, but he had no doubt the club would've fallen apart years—hell, _decades_ ago—if it weren't for Gemma. No wonder Olivia didn't want to be an old lady. No wonder she made that face any time someone mentioned it.

"Look, this whole thing fucking sucks, but it is what it is. Jax thinks Clay burned down Caracara, and even if he gets proof that he didn't I don't think it'll make a difference. I mean, maybe it might to Jax, but Clay is done with the whole thing. It's poisoning the club, and something's gotta change."

"Do you think he did it?"

Bobby shook his head, his chin lowered to his chest. "I don't know. I wanna say no. That's extreme, even for Clay. He never liked the porn business, but it was legit and it was making us money. Clay's ruthless, but I don't think he's stupid."

"Huh," Juice said, a soft, thoughtful grunt.

"So you got a vote for me, brother?" Bobby said, his tone turning gentle.

Juice let his head drop back against the pillow. He stared up at the ceiling without seeing it, and when he thought he could speak without choking he said, "It's yea. Of course I vote yea. Jax has his mind made up. The vote's just a formality."

Bobby grunted and hauled himself out of the chair. "Formalities like that are what separate us from the bangers. Don't forget that, Juicy."

"Yeah, Bobby," he said. "I got it."

He hesitated a moment by the bed. With another gusty sigh he let his hand drop lightly onto Juice's shoulder and squeezed. "We're gonna get through this, brother."

"Sure." He sniffed hard and managed to dredge a smile from somewhere. Turned his head and nodded. "Of course we will. Just another bump in the road."

"Yeah," Bobby said with a cynical snort. "That's all it is." He gave Juice's shoulder one last pat before he turned to go. "Get better, bud. We'll see you back in the clubhouse soon."

"Thanks, man. And thanks for stoppin' by." He smiled a little and looked away, out the window. He heard the door open and dual exclamations of surprise.

"Oh!" a woman's voice said. "I didn't—"

"Ollie. Sorry, didn't see you there. You comin' to visit our boy?"

Juice craned his neck to get a look, but he couldn't see her beyond Bobby's big frame.

"Yep," he heard her say. There was a pause. "Are you—is everything all right?" she said, her voice careful.

"Yeah, we're great. Just had some club business I had to run past Juice."

He stepped aside and gestured for her to come around him, and after a brief hesitation she did—but Juice noticed she never took her eyes off him, even once she was in the room.

"Good to see you, Ollie," he said with a nod. "Get some rest, Juicy," he called.

"Yeah, Bobby. Later."

The door closed behind him, but she stood facing it for several moments after he'd gone. "I hope that's not going to be awkward later," she said as she spun on her heel and walked to the bed.

Juice shrugged. "You stopped by to visit me in the hospital. Other people have, too."

She noticed there was a new basket of flowers next to the mums she had brought last week. "I see that."

"Gemma brought those." He pointed to a Tupperware container tucked in behind them. "Some of the crow eaters brought cookies, but they wouldn't let me have them. I've been givin' 'em to the nurses."

"Trying to bribe them?"

"To leave me alone," he said with a scowl.

She cast a look over her shoulder, back at the door, then at him. Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "What was that about? You look…" She trailed off and waved a hand.

"You wanna sit down?" he said, like he had last time.

"Um, actually—I just stopped by on my way—" She laughed and tried again. "I ran out of trim paint, so I was on my way to the hardware store when I thought I'd stop in. Hence." She flicked her fingers to indicate her outfit—short, ragged cutoffs and a Yes concert t-shirt. Her hair in a long, untidy braid down her back. Paint-spattered Chuck Taylor low tops.

"I like it," he said with a grin. "But Yes?"

"It was fifty cents at Goodwill."

"They ripped you off."

"Ha. You're a funny man, Ortiz."

"I try," he said.

She studied him. "You're dodging the question."

He shifted in the bed. "It was club business, like he said."

"Ah," she said. A slow nod of understanding. "Okay, then."

"Liv, come on, don't be like that."

"Then you don't be like _that_. Play the _super-secret MC business_ card on me. That's bullshit."

"Jesus. If this's what it's like to have an old lady then I don't want one."

"I am _not_ your old lady, Juice Ortiz."

"I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—Olivia, come back! I can't chase after you and that's not fair!"

She spun around and marched back. Leaned over the side of the bed. "If you don't want to talk to me about what's bothering you, that's fine. Just say that. Don't try to hide behind your _club_ and try to make me feel like the air headed bimbo who couldn't possibly fathom the deep intricacies of your _business_ because it's so fucking important and _top fucking secret_."

He blinked at her. "Wow. You said that all in one breath."

"I have excellent lung capacity."

Their eyes stayed locked, the air between them tense. He caved first, and the second she saw his ridiculous grin she couldn't help but smile back. "Fuck you, Ortiz," she said.

"Promises, promises."

It made her laugh harder, a real laugh, bright and clear. Her smile faded when she saw his face. He looked suddenly…lost. Frightened and impossibly sad.

"Juice, what—?"

"Would you do something for me? Please?"

"Yeah," she said. She brushed her fingers over his hand. "Of course. Name it."

"Could you—do you think you could just climb in with me? Just lay here with me while I fall asleep?"

His voice was thick with unshed tears, and she was alarmed by the sudden shift. Part of her wanted to say no. Wanted to turn and run and not look back. But they both knew she wouldn't. Instead she gave a jerky nod and walked around to the other side of the bed. She toed off her shoes and crawled up next to him. He shifted over to give her more room—not that she took up that much—and put his arm around her as she settled in.

She rested her cheek on his shoulder and he turned his head to bury his nose in her hair. Closed his eyes and took a long breath. Her hand was on his chest and she could feel the steady drum of his heart beneath her palm.

"Your legs are gonna get cold," he said.

"They already are."

"You could get under the covers."

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. "I'm okay."

He nodded. Better, he thought, to accept what she was offering and not try for more. Pushing would just send her away, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"You gonna tell me what Bobby was doing here?"

There was a long silence. Finally, "Jax is going Nomad. They needed my proxy vote for church tonight."

"Oh." She raised her head a little to look at him. Her own face was clouded. "Because of the fire?"

"That was just the final straw, I think. But yeah."

"Hhmm."

"Club's supposed to be family," he said after a time. "Thicker than blood."

"Things get complicated when dealing with _actual_ family. Clay and Jax are brothers in the club, but outside it there's a whole mess of shit goin' on." She paused. "Hopefully it's that shit that'll help bring them back together. Gemma and Abel and all the things that they both love."

"Yeah," he said, but his voice was doubtful and small. "Let's hope."

She touched his face and he turned to look at her. She smiled a little. Kissed his jaw. "Try to get some rest, Juicy. You'll be out soon and you can worry about all of this then."

"I'm glad you're here." He brushed strands of hair off her face and her smile widened.

"I bet you are. Here." She leaned across him and swiped the Tupperware off the nightstand. "Have a cookie."

* * *

_That was the longest one so far, and here's a bit more reading for you:_

_I am frustrated by the way time works on SoA. I swear to Jesus Charming exists in some sort of bubble outside of our own reality where 6 years = 3 but it all seems like a few weeks and no one ever has a birthday and there are no holidays. So, k, we know that the events of the show have taken place over 3 years, because Abel was born in the pilot and he's 3 at the end of season 6. The guys spent 14 months of that in jail. That means ALL OF THE ACTION we've seen on-screen takes place in 22 months. That's it. Honestly I don't think it's possible for a human being to sustain that much trauma in that short a time without short-circuiting (like, hey, Juice)._

_Anyway. I'm extending things a bit, because I want this whole thing to be a sort of a long, slow burn, and that can't happen over the period of a few weeks. It'll become much more obvious in the next several chapters, but basically (in my head) seasons 2-3 occur between October and June (so 8ish months total). The guys go to jail. Then 4-6 is going to be...I don't know. 18 months or so? We'll see. I haven't gotten that far yet._


	8. No Place Left

Just to make sure there's no confusion, the last chapter took place in s2 right after the guys got out of that short stint in jail when Juice got stabbed in the kidneys. THIS chapter takes place a little bit after that, but still s2.

Also, we get the last few pieces of Olivia's puzzle (except one, which no one's getting for a whiiille), so just be warned: mentions (but nothing "on-screen," so to speak) of abuse, rape, and suicide.

* * *

**i wanna stop the world and hide  
but there's no place left to run, no place left inside**  
**just want to stop and catch my breath**  
**spend one second on this earth not scared to death!**  
-Bob Schneider, "C'mon Baby"

Juice was out of the hospital, but she hadn't seen much of him—or anyone else, really; she'd had the shop mostly to herself recently. Something had happened, something she hadn't asked about, and it had sent the club into a tailspin. Jax had apparently decided not to go Nomad after all, and he and Clay spent long hours sequestered in the chapel. Sometimes the club was with them. Sometimes not.

It seemed like days had a way of flying by, like one of those movie scenes with pages flipping on a calendar. That's how Olivia felt now: outside of her own life, watching it flip past her. All she needed was an appropriately turbulent song and she'd have her very own montage. She hated the feeling. The powerlessness of it. The club—and the people in it—were drawing her in, and she wondered why it was different here. She'd always been able to keep herself outside of things before. Just an employee. Just a…whatever. Now, though, everything was trying to change, and she didn't know how to stop it.

All day people had been trickling in. Sack had told her they were going on lockdown: no one in or out without an escort. Gates locked. Guards posted. She shuddered at the thought and tossed a wrench into the drawer with a clatter. She had to get out of here before she couldn't. She wasn't part of any of this. She had no need to be locked down like some sort of prisoner.

She grabbed her bag from the office and stepped out into the garage for one last check. The bay doors were closed and everything was in its place. Even though she was in a hurry she couldn't leave things a mess; it would bug the fuck out of her all night and she wouldn't get any rest.

She had her hand on the door when it burst open. She jumped back, startled, and pressed a hand to her chest. "Fuck me, Juice, you nearly gave me a stroke!"

"Sorry," he said. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I was worried you might not've heard about the lockdown and left. Come on. Everyone's in the clubhouse."

He stood in the doorway, his hand extended, and his expression slowly morphed from relieved to nonplussed. "What's the matter?" he said.

"I'm not coming with you. I'm going home."

He stared at her. "Are you crazy?"

"I don't think so," she said. She started to brush past him, but he grabbed her arm. She jerked away and glared at him. "Please get out of my way. I need to get going before they shut the gates."

"You're not going anywhere except the clubhouse, Olivia."

"No, I'm not. I'm going _home_."

She spun away and started toward the office. He yanked the door shut behind him and hurried after her.

"Wait," he said. "Please, just wait."

She froze and turned, each movement slow and deliberate. She looked like a coiled spring: all potential energy ready to explode. He held out his hands and smiled a little.

"Come on, Liv. You know you gotta stay here. It's too dangerous out there. You live way out of town, all by yourself on that empty street. You're safer here."

The tension snapped and she charged at him. Despite their height difference she was somehow up in his face, and he fell back a little. "I'm not part of your club, Ortiz. I'm not part of whatever war you have going on. My life is _mine_, and when I drive out of here every day I leave the club _here_. Do you get that?"

"I do," he said. He started to touch her, but the look on her face made him drop his hands to his sides. "I understand, Olivia, but right now none of that matters. You work here. You're connected to the club. That's all these guys will care about."

"Why would they come after me anyway? I'm nobody."

He blew out a breath and decided to ignore that last bit. "They could come after anyone. That's the point. That's why everyone's here, where it's safe. Anyone with any connection to the club. Hell, Unser's here!"

It was maybe the worst thing he could've said.

"A cop!? Are you kidding me, Juice? There's a fucking _cop_ in there, the Charming Police Chief, and you want me to just stroll on in and cozy up to him?"

"He's not here to fuck with you, Liv. He's here because he protects the club. You're ours. He would never mess with you."

"I am not _yours_!" she cried. She spun away and thrust her fingers into her hair. "I never should have come here. I should have just stayed in Las Cruces. Things were simple there. Easy. I did my job and I went home and I didn't get almost blown up or forced into any fucking _lockdowns_."

He scuffed his boot against the floor and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You can still go back there after this is all over."

"No," she said. "I can't. I don't ever go back. Only forward. Always forward."

"Olivia—" He stepped toward her but she whipped around to face him.

"I can't stay locked in here. You don't seem to get it, Juice."

"Of course I don't!" he said, his patience finally wearing out. "You don't tell me a fucking thing! Why are you running from the cops? What are you so afraid of?" He grabbed her left wrist hard enough to hurt, but she didn't pull away. "What the fuck is this thing? Did you go through an emo phase as a kid and take a razor blade to your wrist one day?"

Now she jerked out of his grip and shoved him away. Followed as he stumbled to shove him again. He clutched her arms to stop her and yanked her against him. "Stop it. Fucking stop it and just talk to me."

Her eyes spat fire and her freckles stood out like sparks against bright red cheeks. "You don't know a fucking thing about me, Ortiz. Stop pretending you do."

"Bullshit." He squeezed her arms hard enough to leave impressions in her skin and glowered down at her. "I know plenty of things, Olivia. For one I know every time I say your name it's a fucking lie. I know the way your skin tastes right there"—he nodded toward the curve of her shoulder—"and the way your face flushes when I kiss you."

He leaned closer and his voice dropped. "I know the noises you make when you come and I know that you're only ticklish on your ribs and the inside of your thighs."

"Right," she said, desperate to interrupt him before he could go on. "You know I take my tea with honey and that my nose goes funny when I'm thinking. Anybody who's bothered to look at me for five seconds before he fucks me would know those things, Juice. They don't mean a goddamn thing."

"Then tell me more! I've stopped asking because I know it's pointless and it pisses you off, but I want to help you, Olivia. I want to—" He stopped himself before he could say _protect you_, because from the way she was looking at him he thought she might stab him for it. "I just want to know you," he finished lamely.

She shrugged off his hold and pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. Her eyes were closed, her head down, and he waited silently while she wrestled with it. At last she looked up, her expression resigned. "It wasn't a razor blade. It was a steak knife. I was twenty-four and I thought it was my only option."

"To die? By steak knife? Liv—"

"No," she said and held up a hand. "I didn't want to die. That's the point. I wanted to live."

His brow furrowed. "Maybe you should start at the beginning."

She drew in a breath and let it out in a long, slow stream. "Yeah. Why not." A brief pause as she gathered her thoughts. Then, "When I was seventeen I met this guy. That's how every sob story starts, right? With the wrong boy."

He blinked at her and she hurried on.

"I was a senior in high school, and even since my mom died and things started going wonky I'd still been a good kid. A good student. I was on track to be valedictorian of my class and I'd applied for early admission at MIT, Georgia Tech, Berkeley…I wanted to be an engineer.

"He was…" She trailed off and let out a bitter laugh. "He was perfect. Smart, funny, sophisticated—at least to a seventeen year old. Good looking." A shrug. "Rich. He treated me like a princess, and what's more he encouraged all my dreams. It was his idea to apply early admission. He suggested California when I said I'd be content at Georgia Tech. In-state tuition and closer to him."

Their eyes met, and he understood what she was telling him. The significance of it.

She kicked at the ground and lifted her arms in a helpless shrug. "I was young and naive and I wanted to believe in him. He asked me to marry him after I graduated, and of course I said yes. I was so obsessed I dropped from first in my class to _tenth_ and didn't even care. Three days after graduation, I packed a bag and walked out of my house and never went back. Two days after that we were married."

He tried not to act surprised when she said she'd married this guy. He'd gotten the impression she wasn't interested in marriage at all, not that she'd tried it once and it had gone spectacularly wrong. "I'm guessing he wasn't the Prince Charming you thought."

"Hardly. He started off slow, because even though I was pretty fucking enthralled, I also wasn't stupid. But by our first anniversary he was locking me in my room at night and loaning me out to his friends."

Juice choked and stared at her. "_What_?"

Her head tilted as if to say _you heard me_. "I was a possession to him, pure and simple. He brought me out when he wanted me and put me away when he didn't. When he was bored he might beat me just for the hell of it. He lied. Manipulated. Raped, of course; what's the point of having a wife if you aren't gonna fuck her, right?"

Juice's hands were shaking as he scrubbed them over his skull and locked his fingers behind his head. "Jesus Christ, Olivia. Jesus fucking Christ. You were with this cocksucker for six years?"

"I had nowhere else to go. No money. No friends. I hadn't spoken to my dad since the day I left home, and TJ—that was the cocksucker's name—had convinced me that my father hated me for abandoning him." She said it defiantly, her chin raised and her jaw tight, but he shook his head.

"I didn't meant it like that. I just meant—" He made a face and let his arms fall to his sides. "How did you get away?"

"Ah, well." Her mouth twisted. "In addition to using me as his own personal party favor when he and his dumb buddies got together, he also occasionally sent me to 'entertain' one of his clients. He usually just sprung it on me, day of, but for some reason this time he didn't."

A crease appeared between her brows and her gaze turned inward. "I think he wanted to punish me with it, you know? He knew how much I hated it, so he wanted me to watch me squirm some beforehand. It was stupid and arrogant, because all he did was give me time to plan.

"I did my homework. I knew where and how to cut to get an impressive amount of blood without severing any tendons—the last thing I wanted was to fuck up my hands. Over the years I'd started squirreling away pills from his collection, and by that time I had a pretty decent haul. I brought them with me that night. The guy, his client, was this real old school type. Ordered dinner from room service but had me serve it to him. Had me making his drinks all night."

"And every time he got a little something extra, I'm guessing," Juice said with a huff of appreciation.

She nodded. "He was half asleep by dessert, completely passed out twenty minutes later. I grabbed a knife off the room service tray and booked it to the nearest hospital." She tugged the cuff over her hand and held out her wrist. "I walked into the ER and did this. They stopped me before I could do the other one, which was good because it hurt like a motherfucker. Any suicide attempt is an automatic twenty-four hour hold, and once they saw my x-rays…well. They stopped asking my name after that.

"A cop came in to ask me a few questions and I decked her." She winced. "I'm not super proud of that. She was just doing her job, and she seemed sincere. Anyway, it got me locked up, and while I was there I met this woman." She smiled then, a brief curl of her lips. "She reminded me of my mom. God, I just…I was so _scared_. I kept thinking I'd made a huge mistake and I should go back and beg him—"

She shook herself and passed a hand over her eyes. "I ended up telling her everything, all those little sordid details I'm glossing over right now. Turns out her old man was the president of a pretty big MC."

"A Sons charter?" he said with a frown.

"No. Different club altogether. When I walked out of jail a week later they were there. All of them. These big burly guys on motorcycles. Even the guards looked spooked. They got me to one of their charters in Tennessee, and at some point I got handed off to the Sons."

A deep breath. "You should maybe know…the other night I told Jax a version of what happened, but not the whole thing, and not about…" She flexed her wrist. "I don't want him to know this part, and if he asks you anything—"

"It stays between us, Liv. I promise."

She acknowledged it with a nod and then stared at him without blinking as silence settled around them. It was so quiet they could hear the commotion from the lot outside, voices calling back and forth, tires on pavement, a baby crying. There was a rattle and a clang as the gates shut, but apart from a minute tightening around her eyes, she didn't react.

"Shit," he said at last. He shook his head, stunned. "That's one hell of a story, Olivia."

"Yeah," she said. "It's a humdinger. Juice—" She looked away sharply. When she turned back again he could tell by her face he wasn't going to like what came next. "For the last five years I've lived my life a certain way. I don't get attached. I keep moving. I cover my trail."

"You think he's looking for you?"

"No," she said shortly. "He's dead. His father, on the other hand…" She trailed off with a shrug. "He'll never stop, and his resources are, for all intents and purposes, unlimited."

"The club—"

"I hide out under the club's umbrella," she said with icy precision. "I don't get_ involved_ with the club. Or anyone in it."

"You mean the way you're involved with me," he said, his voice quiet.

A soft sigh. "Yeah, Juicy. I mean the way I'm involved with you."

"So what will you do? Run again?"

"I'm running out of hiding places. Charming was sort of my ultimate goal. SAMCRO. I figured if anyone could keep me off the radar it was you guys."

She hesitated. Then, "Juice, I knew who you were when I slept with you. I made a choice. I don't regret—that part."

"You just regret everything else," he said with a furrowed brow. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his cut and scowled down at the floor.

"No, I—I regret—I regret that my life is like this. I regret that I'm not the person I was ten years ago. Maybe she could've—" She broke off and bit her lip. "All I know is I can't. It's just not the way I'm built anymore."

"Tell me what you want, Liv. Whatever you want, I'll do it."

"I'll stay for the lockdown and I'll quit bitching about it. I'll talk to Unser. I'll even try to stop by the clubhouse from time to time, to socialize, and not stay holed up in here."

"But…?" he said when she didn't go on.

"But." She hauled in a breath. "But I need you to stay away from me, Juice."

"You mean tonight? During the lockdown?" He knew she didn't, but part of him still hoped.

"No." She closed her eyes. Opened them again. "Not just tonight. What happened at the hospital and the night of the bomb; nothing like that can happen again. I can't—I can't be around you right now. You stay away from me and I'll stay away from you and we'll both be happier for it."

He looked away. His jaw worked and his eyes were bright. She could tell he had his hands clenched into fists from the way the muscles danced in his arms.

"Juice, I just—"

"No." He stopped her with a gesture. "It's okay. You don't have to explain." He shuffled backwards, towards the door. "I can do that, if it's what you want. I won't hassle you about it and I won't try…I won't mess with you. You have my word."

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. "Okay," she said at last. "That's all—" She cleared her throat as her voice got thick. "That's all I needed to hear."

"Good," he said. Backed up a few more steps. "As long as we're all on the same page. I know how much you like that."

Her face scrunched and she started towards him, but he just shook his head and shoved his way out the door. He slammed it behind him and the hard finality of the sound echoed in the empty garage.

* * *

_Like I said, several chapters of angst ahead. These two crazy kids._


	9. These Days

Thank you for the lovely reviews for the last chapter! For this one I tried to levy a bit of humor to alleviate some of the angst that's been piling up.

Just so we're all clear: this chapter covers the first half of season 3, before the guys go to Ireland.

* * *

**and i had a lover**  
**it's so hard to risk another these days**  
**these days...**  
**now if i seem to be afraid**  
**to live the life i have made in song**  
**well it's just that i've been losing so long**  
-Jackson Browne, "These Days"

If she'd thought things had been crazy before, that was nothing compared to now. Gemma was on the lam, wanted for a double murder. Abel had been kidnapped by some crazy IRA asshole as retaliation for his son's murder.

Sack was dead.

His funeral had turned into a drive by and Deputy Hale had been run down in the street. Olivia had no love for cops, but by all accounts Hale had been a good man—and no one deserved what happened to him.

For her part Olivia was just trying to keep her head down. Customers had slowed to a trickle because apparently the town was fed up with the violence that seemed to follow SAMCRO everywhere. She couldn't blame them, but it didn't make her life any easier. Luckily she'd been able to pick up a few custom jobs, and she was working on one of them when Opie ambled into the garage.

She hadn't seen him in a week or so, and his appearance now made her smile. She kicked the stool his way and it gave a little squeak of protest as he settled onto it. He was silent, as usual, so she bent her head back to her work and let him figure himself out.

"I had heard the rumor, but I didn't think it was true. I had to come see for myself."

She lifted a brow but didn't look up. "What rumor is that, _mon ami_?"

"About the bike. A _pink_ bike. What the hell is goin' on in here, Ollie?"

She cut her eyes toward him and laughed, low and quiet. "It's a commission."

"Obviously. For who, Liberace?"

"You gonna sit there and heckle me, or are you here to work?"

He made a thoughtful noise and then shrugged. "Might as well. What's up?"

She pushed a bit of side panel and a sketch across the table toward him. "I've already got the stencil on, so all I need is some detail work."

He stared. Blinked. "Is this the _ThunderCats_ logo with a hair bow on it?"

"Uh huh," she said with a grin. "A pink hair bow."

"What the hell is goin' on in here?" he repeated, even more dubiously.

She laughed and handed him a paintbrush. "You know the Pink Kitties?"

"Uh, yeah." He unscrewed the cap on a jar of black paint and dipped the brush in. "That's that all-girl car club down in Lo Di, right?"

"Motor club, really. They have bikes and cars. All classics, nothing new. But, yeah, you got it. This is for their enforcer. Her nickname's Cheetara."

"Huh," he said.

"She just became a full member and got her nickname." She waved a hand. "It's sort of a status thing, I guess. The club chooses your nickname, and you're not really a member until you have one."

"Kinda like getting patched in."

"Yeah, sort of."

He grunted again and went quiet. She was content to work in silence, and for a long time the only sound was the background murmur and hum of the radio. A song she liked came on and she sang along under her breath without even noticing.

"So's this Cheetara that hot blonde you were with the other day?"

"Ha," she said. A flush slipped across her cheeks. "No, that was Kitty Pink. The club president."

"Right to the top. Impressive."

She hitched a shoulder. "We're just hangin' out, really. I mean, she's cute—"

"Uh huh."

"And we have a good time, but we're not, like, a _thing_."

He held the panel up for her inspection. "Yeah?"

"Good so far. Make sure you get the highlights along the head there."

He made a face. "I grew up on _ThunderCats_, Ollie. I could paint this blindfolded."

"_Mea culpa_, good sir. Didn't mean to insult your honor."

"Forgiven. Just don't let it happen again."

She flicked her fingers in a wry salute. "Speaking of cute blondes," she said after a moment, "how're things with Lyla?"

He scowled like the line he was painting had insulted his mother. "Fine. You know. Fine."

"Um hm. Calm down, Ope. Your enthusiasm is gonna blow the roof off."

A brief smile that was more like a glower. She figured the subject was closed, because that's usually as much as she could get out of him about anything, but he surprised her.

"I like her. I mean, I _really_ like her. I just—" He dropped his brush and selected another one. Spent an almost indecent amount of time inspecting the bristles before he dipped it.

She regarded him with brows raised. "What? You…were just diagnosed with a debilitating illness? You're shaving your beard and joining a barbershop quartet? You're giving up on women altogether and will forever live a life of asceticism?"

He snorted. "I don't even know what that last one _is_."

"Boring as fuck, that's what. But maybe I'm just jealous of some people's self discipline." She waved it away. "You just what, Ope?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "I can't get past the porn. Can't she find something else? Does it have to be _porn_?"

"Hum." Her head tilted thoughtfully as she studied the lettering she was painting. "Is she in it against her will?"

"No, nothin' like that. I think she even likes it."

She set down her brush and pinned him with a long look. "If that's the case, then how is it your business?"

He stared at her, and she looked back with steady calm. "If we're gonna be together—"

"Opie. Is it dangerous for her? For you? For the kids?"

His face scrunched. "No, not really. It's just—"

"Okay, then. She's a grown woman who's happy in her profession. She makes decent money. She's not being forced to do things she's uncomfortable with. Your problem isn't porn; you consume it, after all. Your problem is you don't like _your woman_ being touched by someone else. With all due respect, buddy: grow up."

"Jesus, Ollie, I thought of all people—"

"What? That I'd agree with you about the evil porn industry?" She shrugged. "A lot of women are treated like shit, and that I do hate, but that's on the producers—who are usually men, thanks very much. But Lyla doesn't fall into that category, and if she's happy then more power to her. A woman's body is her own. If she wants to use it to make money, let her."

Her tone gentled. "She doesn't _belong_ to you, Opie. You can love her and you can want her and you can be her man, but ultimately her life is hers."

"It doesn't really work that way when you're an old lady," he said with an uncomfortable shrug.

"Exactly why I have no interest in being one," she said and rolled her eyes.

"Is that why things didn't work out with you and Juice?" he shot back.

"Well. Talk about outta left field." She grimaced and looked away. "There was nothing to 'work out' between Juice and me. We're friends, that's all."

"Uh huh," he said. "That's why he never even so much as pokes his head in here anymore, and why he's been actin' like his dog died ever since the lockdown."

"Maybe his dog did die," she said acerbically.

"Possible," he said, "but doubtful. I don't think he has a dog."

She let out a small huff of annoyance. "Then maybe he's sad about _that_. I don't know, Ope. The moods and whims of Juice Ortiz are neither my business nor my concern."

"Whatever you say, Ollie," he said. His smug, indulgent tone was infuriating. "If everything's so copa-fuckin-cetic, maybe you can get him to show you how to use the computer so you can quit hand writin' your goddamn invoices."

"I know how to use the computer," she said with a glare. "I just don't like it, and clearly the feeling's mutual."

He gave a grunt of amusement before his expression turned serious again. "So what about Clay? He said anything?"

"About what?" She shrugged. "Gemma showed him the before and after pictures of my car. That seemed to satisfy him. Right now I think both he and Jax have way more to worry about than one chick mechanic."

"Fuck if that ain't the truth," he said under his breath. There was a quiet moment. Then, "So I'm still wonderin' why you look so nervous all the time."

She cut him a sharp look. "I'm not nervous," she said. "Just, I don't know. Surprised, maybe. Pleasantly surprised. It's nice to be able to do my job in peace. Nice to just…_be_, I guess."

His eyes landed on the leather cuff she wore around her left wrist. He didn't know what the story was, and he had no plans to ask, but he had a feeling the thick bracelet wasn't just unusual jewelry. He'd never seen her without it, even when she was elbow deep in an engine or washing down a car. He thought she probably hadn't had much chance to "just be," as she put it, and he was glad that was happening for her now.

"Learn to use the computer, Ollie," he said at last. "I'm sick of tryin' to read your handwriting."

That wasn't what she had been expecting, and it surprised a laugh out of her. "Fine," she said, "but I won't be held responsible for the consequences."

He grinned and let the subject drop. He hadn't meant to say as much as he had, really. They got along so well because they both knew when to shut their mouths, and they'd both just broken the number one rule of their acquaintance. She didn't seem troubled by it, though, and she'd given him a lot to think about. He ducked his head and concentrated on his work, content to let her _just be_.

* * *

She'd been staying out of the clubhouse as part of her agreement with Juice. She didn't want to run into him there or make it look like she was trying to make things more difficult for him. As Opie had pointed out, Juice steered well clear of the garage these days, too. They each had their territory, and neither wanted to encroach on the other.

That's why she was reluctant to accept Tig's invitation for a poker game, but he was persistent. He insisted she owed him the chance to win some of his money back and to do anything less was unsportsmanlike. That wasn't the word he used—he might or might not have said _fucked up—_but it was what he'd meant. He even tried to play the _I got shot gimme a break_ card, but she'd stood firm until he mentioned that a bunch of the crow eaters had gotten together to cook supper for everyone. At that she'd perked up.

Real food? That didn't come out of a greasy bag or a microwave? It was more than she could resist, and ultimately she'd given in.

Everything was going great, too. She was so interested in the food she wasn't paying much attention to the game, and as a result she'd lost the last two hands. Tig was thrilled (even though he hadn't won either of them), and he thought for once he might come out of the night ahead. Or at least even.

Then Juice walked in. He'd been jumped the other day, had his cut stolen, and he still wore the cuts and bruises. She winced when she saw his battered face and ducked her head back to her cards. Bobby invited him to join the game, but he shook his head and wandered toward the food instead. A tall brunette with dusky olive skin and big luminous eyes made him a plate. The way she looked at him had Olivia glaring daggers at the three Queens she held.

It was stupid. They were both adults. She was (sort of) seeing someone else, and it didn't bother her (that much) when the crow eaters fussed over him, as they were wont to do, and for the most part she liked all of them well enough. They gave her a wide berth, as though they didn't know what to make of her, but the few times she'd actually been able to engage one or two of them in conversation it had gone okay.

Except Dana, the one who'd been simpering at Juice for the last few minutes. The woman was a stone cold bitch, and while Olivia could respect that (she could be a stone cold bitch herself, after all), there was something about Dana that just put her off. A ruthlessness. Juice didn't have an old lady, and he was vulnerable. Olivia didn't think Dana was interested in _Juice_ so much as she was in being an old lady, a position notably higher than a crow eater no matter how low on the totem pole your old man ranked. If one of the other club members—someone with more status, say—so much as looked at her, she'd probably drop Juice like a hot potato.

Normally Olivia wouldn't have any problem with such a mercenary attitude—life could be shitty, sometimes, and you had to do what you had to do—but Juice deserved more.

"Ollie," Bobby said. He said it like it wasn't the first time, and she jerked her head up.

"Um?"

"How many do you want?" he said, patiently.

"Oh." She slid her cards across the table. "Two." He dealt them out and she added them to her hand. A Queen and a deuce. Four of a kind, how nice.

A round of betting followed, and she tossed her chips in with a distracted little frown. Juice and Dana were chatting, and she was all over him. Olivia tried to ignore them and pay attention to the game. When it came around to her turn again, they all stared at her with expectant eyes.

She smiled, shrugged, and dropped her cards on the table. "Sorry, guys, I fold. Hand like a foot." She glanced up at the clock over their heads. "Looks like it's about time for me to head out anyway."

"Seriously?" Tig said. "Come on, we're just gettin' started!"

"Sorry, Tiggy. Guess I'll have to rob you blind some other time." She grabbed her work shirt and bag off the back of her chair and started toward the door. "Night, guys. Thanks for the game."

"Night, Ollie," several of them chorused back. Tig sounded despondent.

Chibs followed her with his eyes as she made her way to the door. He watched her navigate the room with studied care. The way she avoided the bar, where Juice and Dana were sitting. The way Dana's hand was perched on Juice's thigh like a mark of ownership.

He nudged Happy, who'd been sitting next to Olivia. "What'd she have?" he muttered.

He flipped the cards and they stared.

"Fuck me," said Tig. "Why the fuck'd she fold?"

"I got an idea," Chibs said, grimly. "Lass!" he called. "Give a mo, yeah? I'll walk you out."

She glanced back with an exasperated frown, but she didn't argue. Chibs considered that progress. He shrugged into his jacket and went after her, and when they met at the door she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.

"Think I'm gonna get mugged walking through the parking lot?"

"It's good manners to escort a lady to her car at night," he said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes and stepped through the door he held open for her. "Right. And you've no ulterior motive at all." She zipped up her coat as a chill wind blew past.

"Ach, well, maybe I needed fresh air." He took a deep breath through his nose. "Ahh, the sweet smell of motor oil and asphalt."

She snorted out a laugh. "Like a whore's perfume."

"Aye, cheap and heady."

They both went quiet, and a few steps later they were at her car. She wondered when he'd get to whatever he wanted to get to, and she hoped to God it wasn't about Juice. If she had to have one more conversation about that she might lose her mind.

"Well," she said. "Glad you were here. That was harrowing."

"You're a real smart ass, you know that?"

"It's a gift."

He grinned and fished out his cigarettes. He held the pack out to her, but she declined, so he shook one out, stuck it in the corner of his mouth, and lit it. He shoved the pack back into an inside pocket on his jacket and took a deep pull. Raised his head to blow smoke up toward the sky.

"You know, lass," he said, his gaze still trained on the stars, "it's comin' to a point you've gotta make a choice."

Her head tilted. "What do you mean?"

He lowered his chin to eye her. "Either you're part of this club, or you're not. You can't have it both ways."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Chibs."

"No?" He pointed back at the clubhouse with his cigarette. "I saw you in there. And I see you every day. The way you try to avoid talkin' to anyone. The way you hide out in the garage. I know it was a bitter pill to swallow, havin' to stay here for that lockdown."

"I work here," she said, her brow furrowed. "I don't see how that has anything to do with the club."

"Everything has to do with the club, lass. Not just at TM, but in Charming. Did no one tell you that before you came here?"

Her scowl deepened. "What's your point?"

He shrugged. Took a drag. "Simple: either you're with this club, or you're not. And if you're not, it's probably time to move on." He paused. "I don't mean that as a threat, Ollie," he said, his voice softening. "I just mean it would be better if we didn't get attached to you if you're not truly with us. If you might run off any minute."

There was a silence. She leaned back against the car and slid her hands into her pockets. "Is that what you think? That I'm not with you?"

"Doesn't matter what I think. Only matters what's true."

"Why do you care?" she asked with narrowed eyes. "What's your stake in this?"

A long sigh. "Ollie, darlin', not everybody in the world measures things in gains or losses. Not everybody sees the people around them as commodities."

"I didn't—" She broke off with a frown. "No," she said quietly, "I guess that's true."

He flicked the cigarette away and ground it out. Took a step closer, but angled his body so that he was beside her, not looming over her. It was a small thing, but she appreciated it, especially considering what he said next.

"Whatever this man o' yours did to you—"

She opened her mouth, but he forestalled her with a gesture.

"It's written all over you for anyone who has eyes to see. And I'm not askin' about that, not really. I just wanna know: he's dead now, yeah?"

Her eyes were bright, her full mouth a grim line, and her cheeks burned like live coals. She jerked her head once, sharply, and he nodded too, with quiet satisfaction. "Aye, that's good. You take care of yourself, don't you, lass?"

"I always have before," she said in a strained voice.

"And you still do." His mouth twisted, briefly. "Here in SAMCRO, though, we're family. All of us. And we look after our own."

"That's what you said before. The night—" She couldn't go on, and she crossed her arms under her breasts and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"None of that was your fault, Ollie," he said with a sigh. "It was my own bad fucking luck, that's all."

"Right," she said, bitterly.

"Look at me, lass."

Her eyes flicked up to him and she flinched. He was standing closer than she'd reckoned. He lifted a hand in a soothing sort of way. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he said.

"I know," she replied. Her face twisted into a glower. "I'm not _afraid_, Chibs."

He chuckled and leaned away. "Of course you are. You've been afraid for so long that you aren't sure how to live any other way. You can't imagine the person you'd be without all that fear, and what's more, you're scared to find out. But what's the worst that could happen, lass? You stop carrying that pigsticker? You turn your back to the door?"

She snorted and shook her head. "My dead husband's father finds me and strings me up by my thumbnails?"

"That's not gonna happen as long as you're with us. Get it?"

"Really, Chibs? Can you make that promise? When the club president's old lady was raped and the vice president's son was kidnapped? When a prospect was murdered and his funeral was turned into a shooting gallery? When _Tig_ shot Opie's wife and Juice got fucking shivved and half of you might be going to jail any second for shooting up a church?" She had turned to face him, her voice a sibilant, infuriated hiss, and she punctuated each point with a jab to his shoulder. He weathered her burst of rage with a stoic face, and when it subsided he lifted his hands in a shrug.

"It's been a rough year, I'll not lie. But tell me, darlin': are you safer out there, on your own, or here, part of a family that would do nearly anything to protect you?"

"Why?" she demanded, throwing her arms out. "Why would you care about me? I'm nothing to you. I'm nobody. The other charters—it was different. They just let me be and kept the cops off my door."

"We're not other charters," he said. "We're SAMCRO. There's no half way here, Ollie. Either you're in—or you go."

"I don't—"

"No one's sayin' you have to decide right this minute. Sleep on it." He hesitated. "Looks like we'll be off to Ireland for a bit. Maybe you should decide while we're gone. Avoid any messy goodbyes if you decide to take off."

She lifted a brow and matched his steady look with one of her own. "If I'm here when y'all get back, I'm in. If I'm not—" She broke off and lifted a hand.

"Aye," he said with a nod.

She pulled a face and looked away. "I know at least one person who wouldn't shed a tear."

"Och, don't mind Jackie boy. He gets his back up and it can be hard to change his mind. Stubborn, aye? Like you."

She hadn't meant Jax, not really, but she didn't correct him. She thought, from the look he gave her, that he knew exactly who she'd been thinking of. She chewed her lip, and when she glanced back her normally bright green eyes were dark and troubled. "What do you think I should do?"

"Well now. That's your decision." He paused. "But." A short sigh. "I think you're safer here. And I think the club is better for havin' you." His face twisted. "Even if you do build pink bikes with kittens on 'em."

It surprised her into a laugh. "They're cheetah cubs."

"Oh, aye. My mistake. And the wee little bows on their heads?"

"Everyone likes to feel pretty sometimes, Chibs. Nothing wrong with that."

"Ah, lass," he said as he laughed, "you are somethin' else. I hope you do stay, and I hope this father-in-law of yours comes after you so I can hand you his bollocks in a sack."

"No. If he were to find me, I'm the only one who touches his balls." She smiled then, sweetly, with a little too many teeth. "I made a promise once."

He stared at her a moment, then inclined his head. "It's important to keep your promises," he said. "Only real honor left in this world."

"True enough," she said with a flick of her brows. It seemed they understood each other completely. "True enough."

* * *

_So, like, I imagine by this point some of you are looking at the story rating and thinking, "Um, hello? No E-for-explicit since chapter 2!?" Haha. Never fear, gentle readers: I have not forgotten you. I needed this chapter to happen for 2 reasons: 1, I'm interested in establishing Olivia and Opie's relationship and 2, I needed to give her a reason to say, "Yeah, okay. I'm staying." She's not the type to do that unless someone challenges her about it._


	10. The Girl Who Ran

I, um. I actually really like this chapter, so I hope you guys enjoy it too.

Also: we're still in season three. The next two chapters take place in the two days before/day of that whole big "kill Stahl and Jimmy O" thing.

* * *

**what about the girl who ran?**  
**she ran so far away she could never find her way back home again**  
**she tripped and fell and broke her heart**  
**now the only thing she does well is fall apart!**  
Bob Schneider, "C'mon Baby"

It was probably the stupidest decision she'd ever made in her life (especially in light of Tara's _kidnapping_, for fuck's sake), but she stayed.

She had tried, in the weeks since their return from Ireland, to integrate herself into the club a little more. She didn't hide out in the garage as much. She'd offered to chip in at the next club gathering. She couldn't cook, of course—no one wanted that—but she could do other things. Help set up. Clean up afterwards. Whatever they needed, really, because she'd realized sometime during the nearly two weeks that the bulk of the club was away that Chibs had been right: she was scared shitless, and had been for five years.

She'd known it on some basic, visceral level, but it had never been stated so baldly before. She was tired of being scared. Tired of running. Tired of letting her abuser control her life even after she'd pumped three bullets into him. And so she stayed and, in staying, tried to stop looking over her shoulder.

When she'd told Juice she didn't have anywhere else to go it was only partly true: she had friends who had friends, and plenty of people would take her in. She had skills, after all, and a lot of people were in the market for a good mechanic.

Or a good plumber, apparently, since at the moment she was in the clubhouse bathroom trying to beat some sense into the sink. She'd overheard Chucky complaining about it and had (for some reason) volunteered to take a look. Stupid. She had no clue what was wrong with it, but clearly she was going to need some backup.

She poked her head around the door and looked around. All clear. She sighed and wandered down the hall. There was no answer to her knock on the office door. She rolled her eyes and peeked into the bar. Well. Perfect. Somehow they hadn't run into each other since the club's return, and she couldn't imagine that was an accident. He had to be avoiding her. Which was fine, she supposed, except she was kind of sick of it.

"Um. Hi," she said and shuffled out of the hallway.

Her voice and sudden appearance startled him, and for a moment he juggled the laptop in his hands. It made it safely to the bar and he bit back a curse. "Fuck, Liv, don't you know better than to sneak up on people?"

She pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle a giggle. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sneak." She stepped closer and smiled a little. "I haven't seen you since you've been back. How was Ireland?"

"Cold. Rainy. Shit food." He shrugged. "Chibs warned me."

"Such a whiner, Ortiz," she said with a grin.

He cut his eyes her way and frowned a little. He was surprised she had stayed, truth be told. Chibs had told him about their conversation in the parking lot that night, and Juice fully expected her to bolt. He guessed maybe she'd meant it when she said she didn't have anywhere else to go.

"What?" she said. "What's that face?"

"Nothing," he said with a shake of his head. "I just—I guess I'm relieved you're here."

"Ohh," she said and rocked back on her heels. "You thought I'd run, huh?"

He hitched a shoulder. "It occurred to me, yeah."

Her mouth twisted and she nodded thoughtfully. "I guess it's my MO."

"A pattern, like," he said.

"Um hum."

A silence fell and neither of them would look at the other. Juice pretended to mess with the computer and she tucked her hands in her pockets. She'd left her work shirt in the bathroom and was wearing a white tank top and jeans with her usual scuffed black boots. The freckles on her arms had once fascinated him, but now he tried to avoid even noticing them.

"So," he said.

"Yup."

He cleared his throat. "You still seein' that girl from Lo Di?"

"Not the way you mean, no." She paused. "You still fuckin' Dana?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. "I was never fucking Dana," he said through gritted teeth.

"Good," she said.

He glared at her. "You know, Liv, you've got a lot of nerve offering an opinion on who I can and can't fuck."

"I'm not _offering an opinion_," she snapped. "I just think she's bad news, that's all. Pick literally anyone else in the clubhouse and I won't have a goddamn thing to say."

His lips twisted. "Anyone, Olivia? Even you?"

"You know what I mean, Juice. Don't be a dick."

He looked away with a frown between his brows. "I'm sorry. That was a shitty thing to say."

"It's okay," she said. "I probably deserved it."

He glanced up and gave a sharp shake of his head. "No. You didn't."

She absorbed this in silence. His eyes were wary, a little sad, and part of her wanted to close the distance between them and—

And what?

Nothing. She shouldn't even be thinking that way. She ran a hand over her face and smiled wanly. "I don't wanna fight with you, Juice. I came out here because I need some help with this fucking sink."

It wasn't what he expected. "What sink?"

"The one in the bathroom." She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. "I said I'd take a look at it because it was acting funky and now I think I'm in over my head."

"I don't know anything about plumbing, Liv."

"That's okay," she said. "I really just need an extra set of hands." She hesitated. "If you're not busy…?"

"Uh. Yeah, no." He shut the lid on the laptop and slid off the stool. "I was just ordering some shit."

"What kind of shit?" she said as they started down the hall.

"SAMCRO stuff. Shirts and hats."

"What, like on CafePress? You just go on there and design SAMCRO merch?"

"Yeah, kinda." He smoothed his face. "I tried asking elves to make it, but I didn't have a firstborn to offer, so—"

"Oh, shut up."

He hid a grin and slipped past her into the bathroom as she held the door for him. It was a tight space, and she had to close the door behind them so they would both fit. She smiled a little, awkwardly, and kicked aside a wrench.

"Don't trip on all my shit."

"It looks like a toolbox exploded in here." The sink was partially disassembled and tools were scattered everywhere. It wasn't like her to keep a messy work space, and he could see her frustration in the disorder.

"Yeah," she said. "It's been kinda hellish."

"So, uh, what do you need me to do?"

She took a deep breath. "Um. So, I mean. I think there are a few things I don't have to explain to you. About—about not liking anyone at my back."

His brow furrowed but he nodded. "Yeah…?"

"Well then. Appreciate what's about to happen." She stepped up to the sink and gestured him closer. "You're gonna need to hold this," she said and pointed. She grabbed his hand and tugged. "Closer. I don't bite."

He shuffled forward a few steps until his body brushed hers. "Sorry. I didn't want to—"

"No, thank you. It's okay."

Her hand was warm against his, and he marveled for a moment at the softness of her skin; the sharp contrast in tone from his; the elegance of her long fingers. He'd forgotten. He'd been _glad_ he'd forgotten. Their eyes met and held in the mirror, and he thought she could read everything on his face. Her cheeks went pink and she looked away. Brought his attention back to the sink.

"Here," she said. "Just like that and don't let go."

Without thinking, he brushed his nose against her hair. She'd changed her shampoo. Instead of mint and lavender, now it reminded him of the beach. Not coconut, but…the sea. Salt and wind and sun.

"Hey," she said. "You listening?"

He blinked and realized she'd been giving him instructions the whole time. "What? Oh, yeah. Hold this closed until you say. Then turn it clockwise. Got it."

"Great." She dropped to her knees, a little stiffly, and he stared down at her in consternation.

When he'd woken up that morning he never would've imagined that by three o'clock Olivia Gable would be on her knees in front of him in the bathroom. He tried to wipe his brain clean, but it was no use. Instead he concentrated on the complex braids on the crown of her head. He attempted to follow individual strands with his eyes, and the task was just taxing enough to keep him focused.

She'd asked him in here to help with the sink. She wasn't interested in anything else. She hadn't been in a long time. Months. They were barely even speaking, and apparently they couldn't get through an entire conversation without snapping at each other.

She cursed softly and banged her wrench against the pipe. Another few moments' tinkering, and then she rose to her feet with a grunt of effort. He could tell her hip and leg were bothering her, but he didn't comment.

"Okay," she said, "let's give it a whirl."

He spun the valve like she indicated, and for a few seconds nothing happened. Then there was a great gurgling noise from the pipes and water erupted like a geyser. They both cried out and fell back, and he caught her as she stumbled.

"Fuck!" she said. She dropped to the floor again and turned the water off, cursing a blue streak as she did. She smacked the pipe with the heel of her hand and said something in a language he didn't recognize.

"What was that?" he said.

"Russian. I spent a season on a crab boat out of Alaska and picked up some colorful language along the way."

"A crab boat?" he said and blinked. "What was that like?"

"Fucking awful. I mean, I made a fuckton of money, but it was barely worth it. A guy got his hand caught in a trap and there was blood everywhere and I just—no. Never again. I can't even look at crab to this day."

She chewed her lip a moment. "Plus, I could barely keep up. I'm small, but I'm also pretty tough. But it was so cold all the time and I just _ached_ constantly. Like _knives_ sometimes. Everyone's gotta pull their weight, and I…well. Let's just say I'm better at fixing cars."

A grimace and a quick shake of her head. "It was a stupid idea, but I think I got caught up in the romance of it. A woman and the sea!"

She laughed, a bitter, self deprecating sound. Glanced up at him and shrugged. "I've never told anyone that before."

She was still on the floor, and he reached out a hand to help her up. She slid her palm into his and let him pull her to her feet. He didn't let go of her hand and she didn't try to take it back. Her eyes were big, nearly all pupil, and he had to fight to keep his gaze locked with hers and away from her mouth.

"Alaska, huh?" he said, a slight hitch in his voice. "You get around."

"Long way from Georgia, that's for sure," she said. She sounded distracted.

Neither of them looked away. Her face was tense, her cheeks bright, and he wanted to touch her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. He lifted his free hand, slowly, and she made no move to stop him. He trailed his fingers up the side of her neck and cupped her face. She closed her eyes. It was so quiet he could hear water dripping from where it had sprayed the wall. A bird called outside the window. He held his breath and waited.

She turned her head and kissed his palm. Rested her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Their noses bumped and she laughed. He grinned. She smiled up at him, and it was all the invitation he needed.

He wanted the kiss to be slow, easy, but his libido had other plans. He kissed her hard, hard enough to bruise, and she made a low moaning noise against his mouth that drove him nuts. She curled her fingers into his t-shirt and hauled him closer. Her teeth scraped across his lower lip. He lifted her onto the edge of the sink and wrapped her legs around his waist.

His hands were everywhere, running up her back and down her thighs. She kissed his jaw. His neck. Ran her tongue around the curve of his ear. He pulled her tank top off and slid a finger between bra and skin. Tugged the cup down and lowered his head to nip and suck at her nipple. Her nails dug into his scalp and he let out a soft groan.

She dragged him back him back up to her mouth, and as they kissed her hands slid down his chest and over his stomach. He toyed with her nipple, pinching and twisting it gently, and then harder as she gasped.

When the heel of her hand pressed against his erection he felt his mind go blank. She squeezed him through his pants while her other hand worked his belt. He heard the jingle of his buckle. The scrape of the button and the grate of the zipper.

Her fingers brushed his cock and he knew if he didn't stop this now he wouldn't be able to. "Wait," he said, his voice breathless, barely audible. "Wait, we can't—" Furious with himself and feeling like an idiot, he jerked back. "Liv, stop."

"What?" she said, a breathy gasp. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes heavy and drugged.

Wanting her was like a physical pain, and he wondered if he weren't truly stupid. But he couldn't— He shook his hand and grabbed her wrists (gently, this time) to lift them away. Eased her legs back down again. She stared at him, befuddled.

"What's wrong?"

"We can't do this," he said. He took a step back and ran both hands over his scalp. He remembered his pants were undone and turned away to put himself together again.

She blinked at his back and jumped down from the sink. "I don't understand. You seemed pretty gung-ho ten seconds ago." She didn't sound angry, just confused. Maybe a little hurt.

"I know." He turned toward her, his movements jerky and awkward. "I know," he repeated. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—it was my fault. I just—" He twisted his head and she could see the muscles dancing in his jaw. His eyes were hot and bright.

She swallowed hard and fixed her bra. "Talk to me, Juicy," she said.

"I can't do this again, Olivia. You had me so fucking mixed up—yes, no, yes, maybe—then _no_, definitely no, pack up and go home. I finally got you outta my head, Liv. That trip to Ireland was like—I don't know. Like a Brillo pad to the inside of my skull."

She winced at the imagery, but he forged ahead before she could say anything. "I can't let you back in only for you to change your mind again tomorrow or the next day or even next week. It's too hard. You're too—" He didn't know what word he wanted. Addictive, maybe.

"Poisonous?" she supplied.

"No! No, that's not what I mean. I just—"

"No," she said with a quelling gesture. She reached for her top and pulled it on. Ran a hand over her hair. "It's okay. I get it. And you're right. It's not good for either of us to fall back into it again. I shouldn't have—"

"No, Liv, it was my fault—"

"It takes two, Juice. And if I hadn't been such a bitch the first time, this would all be different."

"You weren't a bitch. That isn't what I meant."

"I know it's not." Her lips curved in a little smile. She glanced away. "I really did ask you in here to help with the sink."

He huffed out a breath. "I know. We can—" He cleared his throat and tried again. "We can work on it some more, if you want."

"Ahh, no." She shook her head and suddenly she couldn't meet his eyes. "I think I've had enough plumbing for one afternoon."

She brushed past him and he started to reach for her. She looked down at his hand. He held it out for a moment before he slowly let it drop again. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't apologize, Juicy. You've no reason to."

He started to say something else, but she was out the door and gone in a flash.

* * *

Tig and Kozik were coming in as she was going out, but she blew past them like they weren't even there. They had to jump out of the way to avoid being run over, and she was almost halfway across the lot before either one of them had gathered himself enough to react.

"Whoa, hey! Hey, Ollie!" Tig called.

She stopped short and spun around, and he blinked at her. "You okay?" he said.

"Fine!" She pasted on a smile and nodded. "Sorry, I'm just late for something. Gotta run!" And she was off again.

They stared after her, nonplussed.

"She's kind of a weird girl," Kozik said.

"Uh huh," Tig said with a nod. He pulled a face. "Nice rack, though."

Kozik tilted his head in agreement. "S'true."

It was lucky for them Olivia didn't hear this exchange, because in her current state of mind they might not have survived it intact. As it was she threw herself in her car and fumbled for her keys. Managed to start the engine and peeled out of the lot. She held herself together for about three blocks, but then she had to pull over into a convenience store parking lot because her hands were shaking so hard.

She gripped the wheel tightly enough to hurt and stared straight ahead. What had she done? She'd pushed him away as hard as she could, told him to keep away from her, and now…he was. What did she think? She'd just crook her finger and he'd come running back?

"God what an idiot. What a fucking moron," she whispered, her voice raw and cracked. She smacked the wheel with the heel of her hand. Again. A third time. Then she was hitting it with both hands and screaming at the top of her lungs, screaming and crying and choking on her own sobs.

The initial storm blew over quickly, and she folded her arms on the steering wheel and rested her forehead on them. Drew in a deep, shaky breath and let it out on a soft moan. She rubbed her cheek against her arm and sniffled. What a fucking disaster she was. Maybe TJ had been right all along: maybe she didn't _deserve_ to be happy. Maybe—

She cut that thought off with a vicious growl and raised her head. No. Fuck that. Fuck _him_. He was dead and gone and the only damage he could do now is what she _let_ him do. She had sworn a long time ago he would never hurt her again, and she always kept her promises.

Something on the store's front sidewalk caught her attention, and she narrowed her eyes. A guy was talking to a young woman—a girl, really, she looked seventeen or eighteen—and she didn't look happy. She started to walk away, but he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back. When she tried to escape he gave her arm a nasty twist that made Olivia flinch.

She was out of the car and two steps from the store before she realized she'd even moved. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she said, her voice level and calm.

At first the guy didn't understand that she was talking to him. The girl stared at her with wide blue eyes, and this close Olivia realized she was younger than she'd thought from the car, closer to fifteen, maybe.

"Yo. Asshole. I'm talking to you."

His back went stiff and he turned toward her, dragging the girl with him as he came. "What, bitch? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Oh yeah. I can see that." He was probably thirty. Way too old to be messing with someone so young. "This your sister?" she said with a nod toward the girl.

He sneered. "If this little slut was my sister I woulda knocked her front teeth out already."

Olivia flashed that sweet, dangerous smile that had so chilled Jax and Chibs. This moron didn't recognize it, of course, and he was deceived by her size. "I'm guessing she's not your daughter, then." She focused on the girl. "What's your name, honey?"

She opened her mouth, but he jerked her arm before she could speak. She let out a little squeak and went silent.

"She don't talk unless I say so."

Olivia nodded slowly and looked away. Rested her hand casually on her hip and slid it around to her back pocket. She laced her fingers through the holes in the brass knuckle grip on her knife. Her eyes found the girl again. She was an inch or two taller than Olivia, but skinny as a rail. There was a bruise on her jaw, and she had a frightened, harried look Olivia recognized from countless glimpses of her own face in the mirror.

"So, big boy. You gonna let her go, or are we gonna have a problem?" she said, her voice taking on the honeyed cadence of the South.

"Who's _we_, little girl? You and me?" His head fell back and he barked out a laugh. When he dropped his chin again he raked his eyes up and down her body and leered. "I think I could handle you, sweetheart."

"Could you, baby?" She sidled closer. She crooked her finger and he leaned down, his hold on the girl relaxing as he was distracted by the contents of Olivia's tank top. "I'd like to test that theory," she said.

He grinned and shoved the girl away. She stumbled but caught herself before she fell. Olivia wanted her to run, but she just stood there and gaped at them. The guy was reaching for Olivia, his pig eyes greedy, when her fist shot out and connected with his jaw. She had sense enough (barely) not to open the blade, but she put her entire weight behind the punch and the brass knuckles bit deep.

He fell back and roared his rage. Shook his head and lurched toward her. She punched him again. Laughed in manic satisfaction when she felt his nose crack under her fist.

"Fuck you!" she cried. "You think it's okay to beat up little girls? Is that _fun_ for you?" She hit him again while he was still dazed and then spun around to plant a kick squarely at his kneecap.

He bellowed and went down. Olivia charged him, but suddenly arms locked around her waist and hauled her back. She fought like a wild thing; kicked and clawed and spat; but the arms (of a cop, she'd soon find out, much to her chagrin) only held on tighter.

"I wanna press charges!" the guy yelled from his position on the sidewalk. "Fuckin' bitch attacked me outta nowhere! Stupid crazy bitch!"

"Get a fucking thesaurus, you Neanderthal!" she screamed.

"Okay!" the cop said. "Calm down! Calm the fuck down! Lady, if you don't relax I'll have to cuff you and put you in the car anyway."

Her vision had gone red with rage and his words barely penetrated. Somehow, though, she managed to stop struggling, and her chest heaved in and out as she tried to catch her breath.

"Can I let you go now?" he said.

She nodded, and his arms eased from around her waist. "All right," he said. He turned to the girl, who still hadn't run away, and smiled a little. "You saw the whole thing?"

She darted a glance to her boyfriend and back to the cop. "She attacked him for nothin'. She's crazy. Just like he said," she whispered.

The cop's forehead wrinkled in disbelief, but Olivia clamped her mouth shut and wouldn't say a word. He hauled in a sigh. "All right. Turn around and put your hands on your head."

Her jaw clinched tight, she did as he instructed. He took her knife and put it in his pocket before he snapped the cuffs around her wrists. "I'll need you both to come down to the station and make a statement," he said.

"I gotta go to the hospital," the guy grumbled.

The cop snorted. "You're a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, fuckwad. Get off your ass and come down to the station or I'm letting her go to finish the job."

* * *

_"Fuckin' bitch attacked me outta nowhere! Stupid crazy bitch!"_

_"Get a fucking thesaurus, you Neanderthal!" she screamed. - aka, maybe my favorite exchange I've ever written in my life._

_In other news: originally I planned for them to have sex in the bathroom, but as the story developed I realized I wanted to hold off on them getting together (in light of events that occur in season 4), and I wanted Juice to stand up for himself for once. I mean, I like Olivia, but she has kinda treated him poorly._

___Anyway. Good thing the club has the chief of police on their payroll._


	11. I Wish

This is a (relatively) short chapter that gets us through to the end of s3. I kept the different parts of it pretty short, too, bc things are moving quickly at this point.

After humming along like gangbusters I've hit a tiny block at the beginning of chapter 15. So, hey, if you wanna drop me some reviews, they really help encourage me!

* * *

**i wish i was a tightrope walker with legs made out of gold **  
**to hold you in my golden legs and never let you go**  
**i wish the world would do what i want it to**  
**and i wish the wind would blow me**  
**blow me back to you**  
-Bob Schneider, "Wish the Wind Would Blow Me"

When Jax and Clay got to the station Unser motioned them into his office. He offered them coffee, which they declined, and shut the door behind them.

"Have a seat," he said.

Clay lowered himself into a chair but Jax remained standing. Unser took a seat behind his desk and tapped his fingers against a folder.

"We got a problem here, boys," he said.

"What'd she do?" said Jax. Unser hadn't wanted to talk about it over the phone, so he and Clay (at Gemma's _strong_ urging) had come down here to bail Olivia out without any idea of why she was _in_ in the first place.

Unser let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. "That isn't the problem. The guy she attacked is a wife-beatin' son of a bitch and twice her size. He'll drop the charges rather than testify in open court that a hundred and thirty pound girl broke his nose and shot out his knee."

Clay barked out a laugh while Jax smothered a smile. "Girl's got balls, I'll give her that," Clay said.

Unser tilted his head and pushed Olivia's knife across the desk. "She was carryin' this. Luckily it was still closed when my officer got there. The blade's too long, legally speaking, but—"

"Come on, Wayne," Jax said, "if that's a problem then I'm Santa Claus."

He waved that away. "You're right. That's not the issue, either."

"You gonna get to it, or make us play twenty questions?" Clay said.

He wagged his fingers in a _be patient_ gesture. "The arresting officer ran her prints before I even knew she'd been taken in. I remember you saying she didn't want to have much to do with the cops, so I would've tried to spare her that if I could," he said with a nod to Clay.

"So," Jax said, "what'd she do?" He jerked his chin toward the folder on Unser's desk.

He sighed and flipped it open. "We got a match on a Jane Doe outta Georgia. Admitted to a mental ward for attempted suicide." He broke off and lifted a brow at them, but they remained silent. He lowered his head and continued. "Arrested the next day for assaulting an officer. Those charges were dropped, and after her release three days later her trail goes cold. It's like she just disappeared."

The way he said it made Clay frown. "But…?"

"But." Another deep sigh. "Her prints were found at a murder scene."

He pulled a picture out of the folder and slid it across the desk. Clay studied it with a heavy brow and passed it to Jax.

"Who's this asshole?" he said after a moment.

"Name's Theodore Jonathan Flanary, Jr. Your mechanic is his long-lost wife."

Clay and Jax exchanged a look. Clay's head tilted. Jax shrugged. He dropped the photo back onto the desk and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Looks like he was killed at home. In bed. Makes sense her prints would be there," he said.

"That's what I would think, but apparently this guy's daddy is some big shot in Atlanta, and he made a stink about it. Said the only reason she disappeared is because she killed him." He paused. "Weird part is she'd been missing for four days, right? From the time she was admitted until the day she got outta jail. In that whole time neither loving hubby nor grieving daddy-in-law filed a missing persons report."

"Huh," Clay said.

"Also, and maybe you boys know this, but her name ain't Olivia Gable."

That hung in the air for a while as they eyed each other.

Jax scratched his chin and cut a look at Clay before his gaze flicked back to Unser. "What're you sayin', Wayne? Are you gonna hold her for this shit or not?"

He pushed away from his desk and onto his feet. Lifted his hands in a helpless sort of shrug. "She's not a fugitive, apparently. The Atlanta PD would like to question her, but they aren't lookin' to arrest her."

"If the guy she attacked is dropping the charges then you gotta let her go," Clay said.

"That's the way I see it," Unser said with a slow nod.

"Does Atlanta know she's here?" Jax said.

"It's possible. Depends on if they have her prints flagged. Probably do, considering all the fuss this guy made." He drummed his fingers against the file. "If they call I'll tell 'em I didn't have a reason to hold her and she skipped town."

"You think they'll tell daddy dearest?" Clay said.

"Might."

"Fuck," Jax muttered. "That's who she's tryin' to stay away from," he said with a scowl. "The cops are a secondary consideration."

Clay lifted a brow at the way he phrased it, and he shrugged.

"Maybe I can, I don't know—lead them off somehow," Unser said. "Misdirect them, like."

"Good idea," Clay said in a way that meant _you sure as hell better_. "We don't need any wannabe big shots with vendettas sniffin' around Charming."

"Right," Unser said. "I'll take care of it."

Clay rose and held out his hand. Unser shook it, and Clay squeezed hard. "You always do right by us, Wayne. We know that."

He offered a shaky smile. "I do what I can." He tugged his hand back and cleared his throat. "My guy said she was nuts. Out of her mind. She probably would've started whalin' on the guy if he hadn't stopped her. Any idea what could've set her off?"

Clay and Jax shared another long look.

"I think she just doesn't like wife-beating assholes," Jax said.

Unser grunted. "Join the club." He jerked his head toward the door and shuffled that way. "Come on, then. She'll need a ride."

"Where's her car?" Jax said as they followed him through the squad room.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, uh. Impound lot. We booted and towed it."

"Oh shit," Jax said. He had to stop as a laugh doubled him over. "Ohh shit. Hide that knife, Wayne. You thought she was pissed before? You ain't seen _nothin'_."

* * *

When they got back to TM Tara was waiting for them. She came out of the clubhouse as Jax and Clay's bikes roared into the lot and approached them with her arms crossed over her stomach and her face tight. Olivia felt Jax tense, and as soon as they came to a stop she hopped off the bike.

"You sure you don't want me to take you home?" he said.

"No, it's okay. I've got some things I've got to finish up here." She took the helmet off and handed it to him. "Thanks, Jax. For the ride and…well. Everything."

He shrugged a shoulder. "Don't mention it, Ollie. It's what we do."

Tara joined them and she and Jax exchanged smiles before she turned her attention to Olivia. "You okay?" she said.

"Yeah. The guy didn't press charges."

"You really jumped some random guy outside a convenience store?" Tara said with lifted brows.

"Broke his fuckin' nose, too," Clay said as he joined them. There was a hint of pride in his voice, Olivia thought.

"He was harassing a fifteen year old girl. I hope he gets locked up for statutory rape and they throw away the key." Her eyes darted between Jax and Tara and she realized she needed to make herself scarce. "Anyway. Thanks again. I should get back to work." She spun away, shoved her hands in her pockets, and hurried toward the garage.

"Well," Tara said.

Jax let out a laugh and swung a leg over his bike. "She's pissed because they impounded her car. I thought Unser might arrest her all over again." He put his hands on Tara's waist and pulled her close. "You look like you've got something on your mind."

She sighed and rested her hands on his shoulders. "It's Gemma," she said and cut a look at Clay.

Jax went still. "What now?"

"She stopped by the house to see Abel, told me about Ollie, and then she took off. She was acting—strange. I think maybe—" A quick shake of her head. "I think maybe she went to turn herself in."

He blinked at her. "Oh shit," he said.

"Goddammit," Clay muttered. He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I'll go back to the station. _You_ figure out how we're gonna pay Putlova for Jimmy O."

"Yeah, Clay. I'm on it."

"Anything I can do?" Tara said.

"Stay with Abel. I'll call you."

She nodded and tilted her head back for his kiss. "Be careful," she said.

"Always."

* * *

The next day the compound was a bustle of activity. She knew something big was going down, but she hadn't asked about it. She wasn't sure that being "part of the family" had to include "knowledge of felonies committed," so despite her increased involvement she still tried to keep out of that side of things.

The garage was closed to customers for the moment, so she was puttering around finding things to do when Phil appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, Ollie?"

"Hey, Phil. Busy day."

"Fuck yeah," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Um, Jax was asking for you. In the clubhouse office."

Her brow furrowed. "Did he say why?"

"Nope. Just asked me to come find you. I'll, uh. I'll finished this up if you wanna go see what he wants."

"Great," she said. "Thanks."

"Sure thing."

She handed him the box of oil filters she'd been unpacking and flashed a tight smile that he didn't return. She wandered toward the clubhouse, not really hurrying, and wondered what this could be about. She'd never been _summoned_ before. Had the Atlanta PD decided they wanted to question her? Had Unser been unsuccessful at distracting them?

She offered nods and smiles to the crow eaters who greeted her by name as she made her way to the office. The guys must be busy elsewhere, because none of them were hanging around. The sound of raised voices stopped her in the hall, and she tiptoed closer to listen.

"You'll be safer with backup, Tara," Jax was saying.

"Then why not one of the guys?" She said it like it wasn't the first time.

He bit back a sigh and she could hear the frustration in his voice. "The guys are all gonna be busy. Look," he said after a moment, "Ollie can handle herself. She's good with a gun, and I feel better about having both of you there, together, than either one of you alone."

There was a short silence. Then, from Tara: "Does this have anything to do with yesterday?"

"A little," Jax said, reluctantly. "Clay's concerned that she might be a liability. More trouble than she's worth. He had Juice dig into this father-in-law of hers, and he's got some pretty sketchy connections down south."

"Criminal connections, I'm guessing."

"Yeah. That's being polite about it." A pause. "She's gotta prove herself, Tara. It's great that she stayed on after she and Chibs had that chat, and everybody's noticed that she's been trying, but it's gonna take more than that to convince Clay."

She heard the sound of pacing. "She could get killed, Jax."

"So could you! Why do you think I want you to have backup?"

"Have you even _asked_ her yet?"

Olivia figured she'd heard enough and poked her head around the doorway. "Asked who what?" she said.

Jackson was leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. Tara stood with her back to the door, hands on her hips. At Olivia's sudden appearance they both went stiff and glanced at her with identical expressions of mingled guilt and vexation.

Jax sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Come in, Ollie. Close the door."

She did so with a sinking heart. It looked like she'd been wrong about that whole "ignorance of felonies" thing, she thought with an internal sigh.

* * *

Juice found her (once more in the garage) about an hour later. She was in there to think because it was the only quiet spot on the whole lot. Things had reached a fever pitch, like someone had kicked an ants' nest. She sat on one of the stools and contemplated a side panel she'd been painting day before yesterday. Not for Cheetara. She'd finished that a while back.

Time was a fickle thing. Had it only been two days ago? Yesterday she'd bashed at the sink. Had that bizarre encounter with Juice. Gotten arrested. And now, today, she was going to aid in the commission of a felony. She wasn't expecting to get killed, or even shot at, but maybe that was just blind optimism on her part.

He had paused in the doorway to watch her, and the sight sliced as clean and cold as a razor's edge. She had her head bent over the table and her long fingers tapped out a rhythm against the wood. There was a line between her brows and her nose was scrunched just a little. He cleared his throat and stepped inside. Shut the door behind him and offered a wary smile.

"Hey," he said, quietly.

She summoned a smile of her own. "Hey yourself."

He slipped his hands into the pockets on his cut and studied the floor. When he looked back up again she was watching him with clear, steady eyes. "You gonna be okay about today?" he said.

She shrugged a shoulder and her mouth quirked. "Don't have much choice, do I?"

"That's not true," he said as his forehead crinkled. "You could say no."

"No, Juice. I really can't." She told him what she'd overheard, and his face went cloudy.

"I'm sorry," he said with a grimace. "Clay asked me—"

She waved a hand. "I don't care about that. It's probably better for them to know anyway."

He hesitated. "Why didn't you tell me who he was?"

"I don't know," she said. She toyed with the cuff around her wrist and bit her lip. "The things I told you—I haven't told anyone that much before, not since it first happened." Her mouth quirked. "Telling the truth is a hard habit to get into."

"Yeah," he said. "I guess so." He ducked his head again. Eyed her from under his brows. "You're gonna be okay, Liv. You and Tara."

"Oh, I know," she said, lightly. "Jax wouldn't risk her unless he thought the chances of her getting hurt were slim to none. We'll get Jimmy squared away and back to the garage, and that'll be that."

She looked at him then and offered a little smile. "Listen, about yesterday—"

"No, hey," he said and held up a hand. "I wanted to make sure you're okay. I heard about—about everything."

She let out a strained chuckle. "Yeah. It was a wild time." She flicked her fingers. "I'm fine. Worst part was having to rescue my car from impound."

"Hhmm," he said. "Brave cops."

She acknowledged that with a sardonic grin and a tilt of her head.

A silence fell between them, and he rocked back on his heels and studied the ceiling. He regretted pushing her away yesterday. He wanted to tell her that. He knew he couldn't. He was off to jail today (unless he got killed, of course, which was a possibility, however distant), and he'd be gone fourteen months at the least. That was time for her. Time for both of them. He could finally, completely, get her out of his head and maybe she could—maybe she could try again with that girl from Lo Di. Have a chance at something real.

"I'm not sure we'll have a chance to talk again," he said. "I just wanted to say—"

"Not goodbye, I hope."

"Well." He shrugged. "Maybe see you later?"

Her mouth curved. "That's better."

Their eyes met and held and a thousand things passed unsaid between them. She wanted to tell him she was sorry about everything and that she wished it had all gone differently. He wanted her to know how much he'd miss her—not just while he was away, but after. Once he got out and they'd both moved on and he'd forgotten the taste of her mouth and the feel of her skin beneath his hands.

She must've read at least some of it on his face, because her expression clouded and she jerked her gaze away. "It's getting late," she said. "We should probably—"

"Yeah," he said and cast a glance back toward the lot. "Yeah, you're right."

Her nose scrunched. "I don't know your part in today's happenings, and I'm not asking. Just—be careful, Juice. Okay?"

"Yeah, Liv. You too." He smiled and started away, but her voice stopped him.

"And Juice?"

"Hm?" he said over his shoulder.

She grinned. "Try not to get stabbed this time."

He let out a short, surprised laugh. "I'll do my best."

* * *

_I want 110% more Tara in this story and I'm struggling to make that happen. Ergh. Argh._


	12. Love's Pain and Heartache School

Okay! Just like the show, we've now jumped forward in time 14 months, and this chapter opens just as the guys get out of jail at the beginning of s4.

Um. In case you can't tell from the title, our star-crossed lovers prreetty much hit rock bottom here. But never fear. ;)

* * *

**and while the future's there for anyone to change, still you know it seems  
it would be easier sometimes to change the past**  
**i'm just one or two years and a couple of changes behind you**  
**in my lessons at love's pain and heartache school**  
**where if you feel too free and you need something to remind you**  
**there's this loneliness springing up from your life**  
**like a fountain from a pool**  
-Jackson Browne, "Fountain of Sorrow"

From the outside, fourteen months seemed like a long time. That was an ironic way to phrase it, really, since surely it had seemed the longest to the guys on the _inside_—Jax, Clay, Tig, Happy, Bobby, Juice—but what she meant was it seemed like a long time until you _lived_ it. On the day the guys were arrested, the day Chibs killed Jimmy O and Opie killed Stahl and Tara and Olivia had played their own small roles, it had seemed as though fourteen months would stretch forever.

Maybe the part that passed the slowest were the six months of Gemma's house arrest. About a month in she had started to go stir-crazy, despite everyone's best efforts to keep her spirits up. She called Chucky constantly to check on TM (even though she knew perfectly well it was humming along in her absence). She fussed over Tara like a mama bear. She baked and cooked like a whirling dervish, which to Olivia was pretty much the only upside to the whole situation: she didn't have to eat fast food or her own wretched cooking almost the entire tenure.

In October they'd thrown a surprise party for Olivia's thirtieth birthday. It was also nearly the one year anniversary of her start date at TM, something that both amazed and slightly appalled her. The party, per force, had to be at Gemma and Clay's, and Gemma had outdone herself with the food. There'd been a huge cake and a pile of presents and Kozik had gotten very drunk and started asking anyone who would listen if they agreed Olivia looked just like Dana Scully. He ended up passed out in the bathtub and they'd all just left him there, but when he woke up the next morning someone had shoved a giant blow up alien in with him and his screams had prompted the neighbors to call the cops.

In addition, she had somehow found herself roped into helping Lyla and Gemma plan a baby shower for Tara. She grumbled about it, but the grumbling was mostly for show. Gemma baked cupcakes with blue icing and Lyla bought every "It's a Boy!" bit of merchandise the party store had and Olivia rewired Tara's doorbell to play a different tune (each one, somehow, about babies) every time someone rang it. (She changed it back a few days later, but it had stayed that way long enough for Tara to threaten Olivia with some truly imaginative forms of death.)

Olivia's house was finished, and it looked amazing. She'd ultimately caved and asked for help, because as she'd worked she'd realized some tasks were physically beyond her. At one point or another she'd had virtually everyone involved with the club (including Gemma, after she was sprung) in and out of her house. It had made her antsy and nervous, but also…it soothed her, somehow. Like maybe this _was_ the right place for her and these people really could be a sort of pseudo-family.

She had some vacation time and she chose to take it the week of their release. No one tried to stop her or even commented on it, and if they thought it was a strange time to leave town, they kept that thought to themselves. The new sheriff had been nosing around lately, apparently eager for the guys' return so he could knock a few heads together, so it made sense she would want to make herself scarce. That was her excuse, anyway. In reality the time that had seemed to stretch so interminably before had suddenly collapsed on itself. Months had become weeks, weeks had become days, and then, bam. Release day.

She wasn't ready. Part of her hated that she put so much significance into what would more than likely be an anti-climactic encounter, but she couldn't help herself. They'd left things so awkward and strange, and she felt a lingering sense of guilt that she hadn't been up to see him while he was away. She hadn't been up to see any of them, but—well. If she'd visited anybody it would've been him.

She'd been trying to get her life together without him in it. She'd wanted to get him out of her head. Stop worrying. Stop wishing things had gone differently. She and Kitty had tried again, more seriously this time, and for about six months things had been pretty great. Then, slowly, it had all started breaking down, and by month eight it had fallen apart completely.

It's hard to make a relationship work when one member of it can't stop thinking about someone else.

They had been out a week when she came back to work. She sat in her car a few minutes after she pulled in and listened to the sound of the engine ticking as it cooled. She hadn't decided what she was going to say to Juice. Would she tell him what had happened with Kitty and, more importantly, why? Or would she just try to maintain the same strained-but-casual relationship they'd had before?

She guessed it had to depend on him. If he still felt the same way he had before then she'd drop it. Finally, once and for all, just drop it. There were only so many times you could butt your head against a wall before you started to bleed.

The first person she saw when she stepped through the clubhouse door was Tig. He and Chibs were at the bar, and at the sight of her Tig let out a whoop.

"There she is! Now we can have a real game!"

She slid her sunglasses up onto her head and laughed. "You've only been out a few days, Tiggy. Don't you think you should hold off on embarrassing yourself?"

"Always the smart ass," he said. He grabbed her up in a hug that fourteen months ago probably would've earned him a knee to the groin. Now, though, she just laughed again and hugged him back.

"It's good to see you, too. Glad to be home?"

"You know it," Bobby said as he joined them. "Hey, Ollie."

She hugged him, too, and if he squeezed a little harder than was strictly necessary, she gave him a pass just this once.

"Welcome back, lass," Chibs said. "How was your trip?"

"Oh, you know. Sun, sand, and lots of beer."

"Fuckin' miserable, in other words. Except for the beer," Tig said.

"Somethin' against the beach, Tig?" she said with an amused tilt to her mouth.

"Yeah. I hate sand. And salt water. And I kinda hate sun, too."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me." She looked around, a crease between her brows. "Where's everybody else?"

"Around, I guess," Bobby said. "Jax and Clay are off dealin' with some club business. I think they took Happy and Miles with them. Prospects're at the warehouse." She had no idea what that meant, exactly, but she didn't ask. "Juice is in the office. Tryin' to clear all the porn viruses off the computer, he said."

She pulled a face. "I imagine fourteen months of neglect have done a number on it."

"Aye," Chibs said. "Between porn and _you_, Ollie, every computer in this place is a fuckin' mess."

"That could be taken a few different ways, and pretty much all of them make me want to smack you."

"Just leave the knuckles in your pocket and we'll have a go," he said with a grin.

"Maybe another time. I'm not really in the mood to peel your broken and bloody ass off the floor right now."

Bobby and Tig hooted, and Tig clapped her on the back hard enough to make her stumble. Chibs just threw back his head and laughed. It was an exchange typical of the last several months, and her quick wit and refusal (or maybe _inability_) to back down from a challenge never failed to tickle him.

"Hey," Tig said, "what's up with that?" He pointed at her left wrist, which no longer wore the black cuff they'd never seen her without.

"Oh," she said. She held out her arm for their inspection. "Chucky took up a collection after I rebuilt the hands Gemma bought him on Ebay."

"Anywhere else that sentence would make no fucking sense," Bobby said with a grunt.

The inside of her arm had been tattooed in bold, abstract splashes. Purple, fuchsia, turquoise, and orange billowed like ink dripped in water; scattered drops of dense black splashed as though a paintbrush had been flung at her skin. Tig rubbed his thumb over it and felt the raised scar tissue, but unless you knew where to look it was practically invisible.

Of the three only Chibs knew the story behind the scar, but it was obvious to anyone with half a brain what it was. Tig patted her arm with an awkward smile while Bobby cleared his throat and looked away.

"It looks great," Tig said. "Really suits you."

"Thanks." She pulled her arm back, still not completely comfortable with so much casual touching. "Saves a fuckton of tricky questions." Her eyebrows flicked upward and her head tilted as though she were waiting for them to ask, but neither of them did.

"Chucky mentioned you reworked those hands for him," Bobby said. "Just be careful, Ollie: the last thing we want is for him to go Robocop on us."

She grinned and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "No worries, Bobby. I'm keeping an eye on him." She glanced past them, toward the hall, and pushed away from the bar. "I think I'll go say hey to Juice before I have to get to the garage."

"Uh huh," Chibs said as the three of them exchanged a knowing look. "You do that, lass. We'll see you later."

"Shit," Tig said. "I'm supposed to be over there now."

She cast an amused glance back over her shoulder. "I hope the place hasn't fallen apart while I was gone."

"Nah," Bobby said. "I mean, there might've been one small fire. But it was very minor and Kozik got it put out in twenty, thirty minutes."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Thank God I know you're joking." The sound of their laughter followed her down the hall, and she could still hear it as she opened the office door.

Her half-formed greeting died on her lips and she stopped dead in her tracks. Images flashed dizzily as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing: Juice, his pants around his ankles. Dana, on her knees with his cock in her mouth.

Olivia let out a strangled gasp and her hand shot up to cover her eyes. "Fuck, shit, sorry! I should have—clearly I should've knocked!"

She stumbled back into the hall even as Juice pulled away and started yanking his pants up.

"Wait," he said, "fuck, Ollie, hang on—"

_Ollie_. Since when did he call her _Ollie_?

_I guess since Dana started blowing him in the office_, she thought with a grimace.

"Ha, no. I think I've seen enough," she said aloud.

"You can join us if you want," Dana said, her mouth curved in a smirk.

"Tempting," Olivia said in a jagged voice, "but no thanks. Maybe another time. In Hell. After the snowball fight." She spun away and slammed the door behind her.

"Ollie, stop!" Juice called. He rushed after her, his pants fisted in his hand as he tried to keep them up.

She ignored him and practically ran through the clubhouse. She didn't notice Chibs as he stood at the bar, and when he opened his mouth to speak to her she kept walking. The door shut hard, the window in it rattling from the force, and he stared at it in consternation.

"Fuck," Juice said as he stumbled out of the hallway.

Chibs' head pivoted his way, and his expression hardened as Dana sauntered up behind him and thew an arm over his shoulder.

"Don't worry about her, baby," she said. "She'll get over it."

Chibs shook his head in disbelief. "You, Juice Ortiz," he said, "are maybe the stupidest fucker to ever walk this planet, and that's sayin' something."

He shrugged Dana off and scraped both hands over his head. "Yeah, Chibs," he said, his tone resigned. "Fuckin' well tell me about it."

* * *

It had been three days since Olivia walked in on Juice and Dana, and thus far they'd been able to avoid each other completely. They'd been helped considerably by the new Sanwa sheriff and his band of vandals. They'd wrecked everything—even the garage—and she'd been too busy putting things to rights (And yelling. There had been a lot of yelling.) to waste time in the clubhouse.

Somehow, though, Juice now found himself in Gemma's office. All the computers in the clubhouse had been smashed, but this one had been mysteriously spared. He had new ones on order (he actually had to admit that was the one bright spot in the whole sorry mess), but in the meantime he had to make do. He had closed the blinds so no one would see him, and he was nearly done when the door opened.

Olivia stood backlit by the sunlight pouring in the from the bay doors, but her back was to him and she hadn't seen him yet. Her hair glowed like a corona, and for just a moment he felt his entire body go hot, like a split second flame from scalp to feet.

"What did he get?" she asked someone in the garage.

Juice cast a glance at the other door, the one that led out into the parking lot, and rose gingerly from his chair. Maybe if he were very quiet…

"A new carburetor," he heard Piney say. "You need me to spell that for you, sweetheart?"

He was almost there. Two more steps.

"Bite me, you sexist old bastard."

Piney choked and wheezed as he laughed, and just as Juice's hand touched the doorknob, she turned into the room. They both froze. Juice stared at her, wide-eyed. Her mouth quirked in an ironic moue.

"Well," she said.

"We keep meeting like this," he said, trying and dismally failing to make a joke of it.

"We sure do." She closed the door behind her. "At least this time your dick's not in anyone's mouth."

He winced and looked away.

She moved to the desk and frowned down at the computer. "I have to type up these invoices. Is it okay to use this?"

"Oh, yeah. It's just running a virus scan. It can do that in the background."

"Great," she said. She cut her eyes toward him as she waited for the program to load. "Don't let me keep you. I imagine Dana doesn't like you out of her sight for very long."

He gritted his teeth. "It wasn't what you think."

"Please," she said with a snort. "She _wasn't_ sucking your dick? Or she was, but it was for…I don't know, medical reasons? You got a prescription for blowjobs?"

"Jesus Christ, Ollie—"

"Stop calling me that!" she cried and slammed her hand on the desk.

"It's your name, isn't it?" he said, his face twisting.

She turned her head away, and when she spoke her voice was rough. "Not when you say it," she said.

He blinked, startled. "I thought everyone—"

"Not you."

"I didn't know it was that important."

"Right," she said and tossed her head. When she finally looked at him her eyes were red, her cheeks flushed. "I could hire a fucking skywriter and I still don't think you'd know what was important to me."

He surged toward her, his own anger flaring. "Maybe you _should_ hire a skywriter, Olivia, because I can't keep up with you. I was gone for over a year and you didn't come visit. You didn't write. I finally get home and you're not even _here_. You'd gone on _vacation_. What, that was the only week in the last _two_ _goddamn years_ you could get away?!"

"I wasn't ready!" she cried. She swiped a hand across her face and squared her jaw. "I thought I had time. I kept thinking—and then next thing I knew—and I wasn't ready. I didn't know what to say or how to act, and I just needed a little more _time._"

"So you ran," he said and crossed his arms.

"I came back," she said. "I came back, and I looked for you, and when I found you—" She threw her hand out in frustration.

"How was I supposed to know you were coming back? For all I knew you were gone. That's your pattern, isn't it?"

"Oh fuck you, Ortiz. Fuck you for thinking you have that much impact on my life. A lot's changed while you were gone, so don't come strutting back in here thinking you know all my fucking secrets. You don't have a clue."

The muscles in his jaw danced and his eyes were bright as he clenched his hands around his biceps. "I can see that," he said. He jerked his chin toward her wrist. "You get that for your new girlfriend?"

"What?" she said, astounded. "Is _that_ what this is about? _Kitty_? We broke up three months ago!"

He glowered down at his boots. "Nobody told me that."

"Maybe because my love life is none of your fucking business."

"But mine's _yours_?" he demanded.

"It sort of becomes my business when it's shoved in my face."

"I'm sorry, Olivia, okay? I never meant for you—"

"Of course you didn't." Her hand lifted in a tired shrug. "But I did."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "We're a disaster, Juice. You and me. All we ever do is fuck up. We just keep smashing against each other, and I don't think we're ever—" She broke off with a quick shake of her head.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and pressed his lips together in a thin line. His throat worked as he tried to speak, and he had to stop to clear it. "What happened—with you and Kitty?" he finally managed.

A small, humorless smile. "Not much. Nothing dramatic. She just got tired of the competition."

His eyes snapped to her. "Who—?"

The door flew open as Gemma burst in. "There you are!" she said to Olivia. "I've been looking everywhere."

Olivia turned her head and ran a hand over her face. When she looked back she had managed to drudge up a smile from somewhere. "I've been right here, Gem. What's up?"

Gemma's eyes narrowed as she glanced from Olivia to Juice and back again. "Everything okay in here?"

"Perfect," Juice said. "I just finished up with the computer and was on my way out when Ollie came in. Good to see you," he said to her, his tone formal and polite, like they were strangers.

"Yeah, Juice," she said, her voice tight. "You too."

He nodded at Gemma and fled. She waited until the door closed behind him to cross her arms and turn a gimlet eye on Olivia. It was a look she knew well, and it took all of her composure not to squirm.

"You gonna tell me what just happened?" Gemma said.

"I wasn't really planning on it."

Gemma moved closer. Olivia tried to ignore her, but it was impossible. At last she sighed and turned to face her. "What, Gemma?"

"I heard about the other day."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please," Gemma said. She eyed Olivia up and down a moment. Crossed her arms again and propped her hip on the desk. "Dana is a ladder-climbing whore, and I'm about two minutes from kicking her bony ass out on the street."

She shrugged a shoulder and shuffled some papers. "No reason to do that. She's just doing what's she's here to do. Eat crow."

Gemma rolled her eyes and let her arms fall to her sides. "You and that boy just need to fuck and get it over with."

Olivia's mouth twisted. "I think that's the last thing we need, actually." She dropped the sheets onto the desk and finally met Gemma's eyes. "You said you were looking for me?"

"Yeah," she said drawing the syllable out. She regarded Olivia with an inscrutable expression before she waved a hand. "Clay wants you to take a look at some of the damage that sheriff did the other day. He saw the toy box you made for Abel and Thomas—"

"I didn't make it. I found it and refinished it."

She dismissed that with a flick of her fingers. "Just head over there and check out the table, Ollie. It'll shut him up about it."

She hesitated. Shifted her weight and cast a quick glance toward the garage. "Yeah, okay," she said at last. "I can at least take a look."

She scooted around the desk and was reaching for the door when Gemma's voice stopped her.

"Love ain't ever easy, baby girl," she said. "If it is you're not doin' it right."

Her shoulders went stiff. She looked back, a line between her brows. "Who said anything about love?"

Gemma smirked. "Not a soul, sweetheart."

"Right," she said, doubtfully. With one last confused glance, she opened the door and stepped out into the lot.

* * *

_I'm thinking of doing an 8tracks playlist for this story bc I'm not sure ppl are all that familiar with the songs I quote at the beginning, and they're all chosen very specifically. I'm using a lot of Jackson Browne because Katey Sagal does a cover of his song "For a Dancer" in season...4, maybe? 5? I don't remember._

_Anyway! I'd love to hear from you, constant readers. :)_

_Oh, and if you want an idea of what Olivia's new tattoo looks like, you should google Amanda Wachob._


	13. That Hollow Sound

I've managed to cruise through the first half of season 4 with this chapter, just so we're all clear. :)

* * *

**fountain of sorrow, fountain of light  
you've known that hollow sound of your own steps in flight**  
**you've had to struggle, you've had to fight**  
**to keep understanding and compassion in sight**  
**you could be laughing at me, you've got the right**  
**but you go on smiling so clear and so bright**  
-Jackson Browne, "Fountain of Sorrow"

Gemma had decided to throw a party to welcome the guys home, and Olivia wondered why the idea had just occurred to her now. Usually she planned events like this weeks in advance. As it was she pulled Olivia from the garage and Lyla from the studio (when she could get her) and, along with Tara, set about planning a massive shindig to take place at the clubhouse.

The much-anticipated night had finally arrived, and so far it was a raging success. Tig and Kozik were lit all to hell and back, and at some point they had started singing dirty songs from their Marine Corps days. Now they were out in the lot bellowing at the top of their lungs, and somehow Olivia had been tasked with bringing them inside. How a five foot woman was supposed to wrestle two fall-down drunk men twice her size into submission hadn't been explained to her. She grabbed Chibs (who was only mildly hammered) and dragged him along.

Tig and Kozik were on the playground, and Tig seemed to be stuck in the slide. Kozik was trying to yank him free with little success. Juice was in one of the swings, laughing too hard to be of any help. Kozik tugged at Tig's feet and stumbled back to land hard on his ass.

"Fuck!" he yelled. "Fuck, man. You're really stuck, man. Fuuuuck."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Chibs said. "What is goin' on out here?"

"I wanted to slide," Tig said. "Fuckin' slide's too small."

"You're six feet tall, Tiggy," Olivia said. "Of course the slide's too small."

"You think you could slide?" Kozik said to her.

Tig barked out a laugh. "Oh I bet Ollie can slide. I bet she can slide allll—"

"Okay, Tiggy, that's enough," Chibs said.

She rolled her eyes and helped Kozik to his feet. He leaned against her and grinned. "Hey. Anyone ever tell you you look like Scully? From _The X-Files_, yanno."

"I know, Kozik. But I don't, really."

"It's just the hair," Chibs said. His voice was muffled because he was shoving at Tig's shoulders from the top of the slide. A moment later Tig tumbled down and landed in a groaning heap.

"Come on, laddie," Chibs said. "Let's get you inside. Juicy, a hand?"

"Yeah, Chibs, I'm comin'." He got up from the swing and ambled toward them. He didn't seem as drunk as the others, and his gait was steady. He tossed Kozik's arm over his shoulder and took his weight. "Let's go, brother."

They started toward the clubhouse, but Kozik stumbled to a halt. "You comin', Scully?" he called.

"I'm good here, Mulder. You go catch us an alien."

"I fuckin' hate aliens," he said to Juice.

"Yeah, buddy. I think we all do."

He rolled his eyes back at her and she muffled a chuckle. Tig started up another song and Kozik joined in with a whoop, but before she could hear what had the marine exactly _so_ happy, the four of them disappeared inside.

She shook her head and lowered herself in to the swing Juice had vacated. She'd had a few drinks herself and felt pleasantly buzzed. Warm and just a touch out of focus. It was a nice night, and quieter out here than inside. The sound of footsteps startled her into looking up, and she eyed Juice warily as he approached.

He paused at the fence and she flicked her fingers toward the other swing. "C'mon, Ortiz. Don't just stand there."

He grinned a little and settled into the small seat. "Jesus. Was my ass ever this tiny?"

"I was wondering the same thing." She shifted her weight a little and winced as the chains dug in. "At least we're not stuck," she said.

"Ha! Fuckin' A. Not sure he'll live that one down."

"Why didn't you stop him?" she said.

"Are you kidding? And miss _that_? No fuckin' way."

Her mouth curved and she let the swing drift a bit closer to him. "You know, Juice—"

"Wait. There's something I need to say."

"Ohh?" she said, lifting her brows.

"It's about…Dana. And what you saw."

She snorted. "I don't really want to hear it, Juicy. You got a blowjob from a crow eater. Big fuckin' deal."

His forehead creased. "You seemed to act like it was a big deal."

"Hum." She pushed off and the swing rocked back and forth. "I guess it was, at the time. Now? Not so much."

"Oh," he said. "So you don't—you don't care?"

She laughed and leaned back far enough that her hair dragged the ground. Her skirt rode up and he got a flash of thigh. "Right, Juicy. That's it. I don't give a flying fuck."

He frowned. Ran a hand over his scalp. He opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and slumped in the swing.

She sat up fast, and her piercing gaze pinned him in place. "I don't care that she blew you, Juice. The whole fucking clubhouse could blow you for all I care. Do you know why?"

"Nooo…?"

Her swing moved in close and her eyes were still locked on his. "You and I, baby? We're endgame. You and Dana are a blip." She flicked her fingers. "One day we're gonna quit missing each other. One day we'll get this shit figured out. And when we do? Everyone else will just fade away."

He swallowed and almost choked. "You mean that?"

She leaned into him and kissed him long and slow. She tasted like bourbon, and even after two years the flavor was enough to make him go hard. He pulled back with a gasp, and his eyes were wide as he stared at her. She laughed, a low throaty sound, and her swing drifted away.

A silence fell. The sounds from the party seemed to float away, and he could hear the scrape of her shoe against the ground. The creak of the chains. The moon was huge in the sky, and by its silver light her skin seemed to glow. She had her hair mostly down tonight, with just a little bit pulled back and clipped at the crown of her head, and the breeze toyed with the loose strands.

"You look nice," he said.

Her full mouth eased into a smile. "Thanks," she said.

Her dress was white with cherries scattered over it, cut low in front and back with cap sleeves and a full skirt. Fifties housewife meets—he wasn't sure what. He wanted to say _sex kitten_, but that didn't seem quite right.

He was startled when she spoke again. "Do you ever—have you ever wished that you could go back and change something? Just one thing. One little do-over."

"Yeah," he said, thinking of his latest encounter with the good sheriff. "I wish that all the time."

Her mouth quirked and she focused on him. "My do-over would be the night of the lockdown. The night I told you to keep away from me. I wish I hadn't said that."

"Oh, well, if we're talking about _that_—mine would definitely be that day in the bathroom."

"You realize I got arrested because of you."

"Me?" He blinked innocently, a grin hovering at the corners of his mouth. "How is that _my_ fault?"

"Unresolved sexual frustration can have a profound effect on one's mood."

"Ah," he said. He scrubbed a hand over his scalp and ducked his head. "If it makes you feel any better, after you left I locked the door behind you and stayed in there for a good half hour."

She choked on a laugh, and he looked up at her with a sheepish smile. "That does make me feel better, actually."

"You don't—you really don't think it's too late for us?" he said after a moment.

"Nah," she said and shook her head. "It's never too late until you're dead."

Her expression sobered and she glanced away. "Maybe…maybe if we took things really slow…?" She flashed a wry grin. "As opposed to last time, when we were fucking on a cheap motel table within an hour of meeting."

He winced a little. "C'mon, Liv. Sexual frustration. I'm only human."

"Poor baby," she said with a sympathetic pat on the cheek. "I guess you'll have to lock yourself in the bathroom again."

"I never shoulda told you that," he said through gritted teeth.

"Probably not." Her eyes raked him up and down. "But I'm glad you did."

* * *

"Jesus fucking Christ," Olivia muttered. She slammed the hood on the GTO and dropped her wrench into the tool chest. Some days, she thought, it was impossible to get any fucking work done around here. Now something was going down outside and the whole place was in an uproar.

She yanked off her gloves and tossed them in the trash on her way to the office. She poked her head around the door to find Tara and Gemma in the middle of a tense conversation that cut off as soon as they saw her.

"I'm sorry," Olivia said. "I should've knocked."

"No, Ollie." Gemma gestured her into the room. "You should probably know about this too. We're on lockdown." She glanced at Tara and held out a piece of paper. "Tara found this in her car this morning."

She leaned over to read it and her eyes went wide. "Fuck me, Tara. Are you okay?"

She nodded, her face tight and her hands clamped around her arms. "Yeah. I'm fine. I don't think it's anything to worry about."

"A death threat." Olivia's forehead crinkled. "No offense, but if you think a death threat is nothing to worry about then you've been living with this club too long."

"That might be true anyway," Tara said.

"Wayne's on his way," Gemma said, quickly. "He'll get to the bottom of it."

"Yeah? Anyone mentioned it to our keen new sheriff?"

"Fuck no," Gemma said. "The last thing we need is the cops crawling all over this place."

Olivia's mouth quirked. "No shit." She nodded toward the bag on the couch. "What's up with that? Someone hurt?"

"I guess so. Jax called and said they needed me here for an emergency."

Olivia hooked her thumbs in her back pockets and rocked back on her heels. Her eyes flicked toward the window and she watched the activity in the lot before she focused on Tara again. "I can help you. If you need it."

Tara studied her a moment. "You a doctor now?" she said with a smile to soften the words' sting.

She hitched a shoulder. "I've got steady hands and I put in a good stitch. Blood doesn't really bother me." Her left arm fell to her side and Tara zeroed in on it. "Unless it's mine."

"Did you really do that with a steak knife?" Tara said.

"We've known each other two years and _now_ is when you ask?" She waved it away. "Yeah. Not—um—not the serrated kind." She shuddered. "Ugh."

Tara reached for her and raised an inquiring brow. Olivia nodded. Tara's hand closed around her wrist and she studied the scar beneath the ink for a long quiet moment.

"You did a good job," she finally said. "Straight. Thin. Never would've guessed you did this with cutlery."

Gemma watched this odd exchanged with her fists on her hips and her head tilted. Her mouth was twisted in a moue that somehow danced the line between impressed and a tiny bit disgusted.

"I told you," Olivia said and reclaimed her arm. "Steady hands."

Outside the gate clanged open and a motorcade roared in. The three women looked that way and Tara grabbed her bag. "Come on," she said to Olivia. "Stick close and do what I say."

Their patient was Marcus Alvarez, president of the Mayan MC, and apparently he'd been shot. They got him into the clubhouse and stretched out on the table (Olivia tried not to wince—she'd only just gotten it refinished) and Tara tossed her a pair of gloves before she snapped on her own.

Chibs offered Alvarez a smoke, which he accepted gratefully. Olivia cut him an astonished look, but Chibs just shrugged. "A man deserves to smoke when he's been shot, lass."

Alvarez grunted as Olivia replaced Tara at his shoulder and pressed her hand against the wound. "You guys letting your mechanics patch people up now?" he said.

"Aye," Chibs said. "She's actually a doctor, but we let her play mechanic sometimes."

"We're all fuckin' doctors," Clay said with a grin and an expansive gesture. "Best educated MC in the whole fuckin' state."

There were chuckles and snorts of laughter, but then talk turned to club business, cartel this and that. Olivia lowered her head and tried not to listen. They mentioned the threat on Tara's life, and Juice pointed out that cartels had a habit of going after families—just as Tara rushed back into the room. She stopped short, and suddenly her hands were trembling so badly she couldn't make sense of the tight latex gloves.

An awkward silence fell as everyone glared daggers at Juice. Olivia ignored that and reached for Tara with her clean hand. "Forget it," she said, her quiet voice cutting through the chatter that resumed around them. "Focus on this. Deal with the other later. Nothing's going to happen to you here, and our friend Mr. Alvarez is bleeding all over the table."

Tara nodded, a short, stuttering jerk of her head, but she managed to get the gloves in place and took over for Olivia at Alvarez' side. Olivia stripped off her own gloves and dropped them into one of the medical waste bags Tara had brought. She gave Juice a long look, and he glanced away with a frown.

Chibs' phone rang, and after a brief conversation with Jax he passed the phone to Gemma so she could hold it out for Tara. The conversation seemed to comfort her, and after it was over some of the tension was gone from her shoulders. Olivia took advantage of everyone's distraction to slowly, casually make her way toward Juice. But then Chucky stumbled in like some sort of messenger of doom and told them the sheriff had arrived.

"Stay here," Clay ordered and jabbed a finger in Olivia's direction.

"Had no plans to leave," she said as they hustled out.

Alvarez puffed on his cigarette and studied the ceiling. His eyes cut to her.

"The doctor. She Jax's old lady?" he said.

"Yup."

"So whose old lady are you?"

"Nobody's. I'm a mechanic, remember?"

"Right." He cast about for somewhere to drop his smoke, and she held out an ashtray. "They let you work in the shop here?"

"Let me? I'm fuckin' brilliant at what I do. If it's broken, I can fix it." It was a tiny hyperbole, but not much of one, so she didn't feel guilty about it.

"Like me."

"Well, that was mostly Tara, but…sure, if that's how you wanna look at it." She paused and leaned over to peer at his chest. "Nice ink."

He laughed a little and winced. "Not like that girly shit you got," he said and flicked his fingers toward her arm.

She repeated what she'd said to Chibs when he'd teased her about Cheetara's bike: "Everybody likes to look pretty sometimes, Alvarez. It's a nasty gray world out there, and you gotta find color where you can."

"Huh." He turned his head to stare at the ceiling again. "Guess that's true," he said. A quiet moment while he tried to steady his breathing around the pain. Then, "Still looks like girly shit to me."

She barked out a laugh and patted him gently on his good shoulder. "I'll make sure the next one's hardcore. Just for you."

* * *

Juice knew Clay thought he was doing something good. Clay thought the new patch would help him work through whatever was making him act weird and moody and squirrelly. He knew Chibs had noticed (finally), but so far Olivia had been the only one to directly call him on it—one of the few conversations they'd had since that night on the swing, actually. He figured the patch was Clay's way of doing the same.

Clay just didn't get it. He didn't understand that this patch—meant to demonstrate Clay's confidence in him, and Juice's own commitment to the club—just made him feel shittier. He wasn't a Man of Mayhem. He'd shot Miles, a brother. He'd stolen from the club. He'd turned rat. He was shit. Worse than. No fucking patch was gonna change that, and wearing it would be hypocritical and wrong.

He'd wear it anyway, of course. He had to. Clay had given it to him, and now (even though it was a fucking lie that would remind and mock him every time he looked down) he had to sew it on and try to smile and pretend everything was all good. He wasn't sure he could take it much longer.

"Oh! Fuck, you scared me!"

Juice jerked back and realized with a blink that he'd nearly collided with Olivia. He stared down at her, and his first irrational reaction was annoyance. He had enough on his mind without…distracting redheaded mechanics popping out of every closed door. He'd been trying to keep his distance, despite what happened at the party. Or maybe because of it. He honestly wasn't sure. All he knew was that he was an asshole and a traitor and he didn't deserve anything she was offering. In the brief encounters they'd had over the last few weeks he could tell she was hurt and confused by his coolness, and that only made him feel like even more of a dick.

"What are you doing here?"

She shut the door behind her and her mouth curved. "It's a bathroom, Juice. Do I really need to go into detail?"

He shook his head once, hard. "I just meant—here, in the clubhouse. Instead of the garage. You aren't usually over here."

"I was working." She pointed back over his shoulder. "You think that wall's spackling itself?"

"No, I—no. I just didn't think you'd be here this late," he muttered with ill grace. Why was she always so damn calm when he was falling apart? He wanted to wrap himself in her serenity, bathe in it, but at the same time he wanted her as far away from him as possible. He didn't need more to think about.

She eyed him a moment. Then, "You dropped your thingie."

He looked down and saw that fucking Men of Mayhem patch and sighed. She knelt to retrieve it, and for a moment she stayed there. She looked down at the patch in her hand and back up at him. The moment stretched, lengthened, and he felt his throat grow dry and his head grow light as blood rushed to regions further south.

"Here," he said, thrusting his hand out. "Let me help you."

She lifted a brow and slid her palm into his. Let him pull her to her feet before she tugged her hand away. "So this's cool, right?" she said and waved the patch. "They only give these to the baddest badasses."

He ducked his head and muttered something she couldn't make out. Took the patch from her and shoved it into his pocket. "Yeah, s'cool," he said without looking at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a shoulder against the wall. "You need any help sewing it on?"

His head jerked up. "You sew?"

"No need to sound so surprised," she said with a grin. She waved a hand. "My mom spent a lot of time and energy trying to lure me away from my fascination with all things mechanical. I don't think she had an objection to the hobby per se; she was just sick of trying to get grease stains out of all my clothes."

The image of a little Olivia, freckles on her nose and hair in twin braids, being pulled away from her beloved cars to sit inside and sew brought a brief smile to his face. It faded and he cleared his throat as he realized how keenly she was watching him. "Thanks, but we sew them on ourselves. It's part of the whole thing."

"Oh," she said, "of course it is. I think I knew that. Somewhere." She tapped her temple. "Um, anyway. I should get going. It's late, like you said."

"Yeah. I'll see you later."

She slipped past him with a smile, but halfway down the hall she stopped and turned back. "Juice."

He frowned and spun toward her. She looped her thumbs in her back pockets. Pulled them out again and fiddled with a button on her shirt. Took a step closer.

"You know he wouldn't have given it to you unless he thought you deserved it," she said at last. Her voice was odd, hesitant and kind. Not that it was odd for her to be kind, just—

He made a conscious effort to relax his face into an easy expression, but he thought she probably wasn't fooled. "I know," he said. "It means a lot. It really does."

Another step, until she was close enough to touch. He was acutely aware of her: the fullness of her mouth. The gleam of her eyes. The smell of her, like honey and oranges with just a hint of plaster dust. He knew her skin felt as smooth as it looked, and he itched to touch her. There was a curl of hair against her neck and he wanted to wrap it around his finger.

She said something that he missed. He shook his head to clear it and scrubbed a hand against the back of his skull. "What?" he said. "I guess I zoned out a sec."

Her lips quirked like she knew exactly where his mind had gone, but all she said was, "I asked why, if it means so much, you're acting like you've got a bomb in your pocket. You don't seem super thrilled."

He gave an uneasy shrug and slumped against the wall. Shoved his hands in his pockets and curled his fist around the patch. His head fell back and he stared at the ceiling without seeing it. He could only see Miles. Miles and that goddamn US Attorney. Juice was a liar and a rat and a hypocrite, and he'd been rewarded for it. Miles was dead, and Juice was getting claps on the back.

But he couldn't tell her any of that. He tried to say something glib, something about missing Miles and feeling bad for what had happened, but his tongue turned wooden and he couldn't choke the words out.

"How's your leg?" she said.

He glanced at her, surprised.

Her head tilted. "Phil told me some of what happened. Just wanna make sure you're okay." A pause. "I wish you had told me. I hate that I had to hear it from someone else."

He frowned a little. "I'm sorry. Things have been—really crazy," he said. "But the leg's good. Tara did a great job." He wanted to say something else. To thank her for bothering to ask. For noticing in the first place. He couldn't put the words together, though, any more than he could say Miles' name, so he ended up just staring at her with tongue-tied confusion.

She leaned closer and her voice dropped. "I know this is a ridiculous and selfish question in light of everything, but—are _we_ okay? I've barely seen you, and I just—"

"No, Liv." He stopped her with a quick gesture and a brief smile. "We're fine. Everything's fine. Just with what happened to—I mean, the other day—"

She nodded and brushed her fingers against his arm. "It's okay. I get it." A pause. "You know where I am if you need me."

He had to clear his throat before he could speak again, and even so his voice sounded thick and strained. "Yeah. I do. Thanks, Liv."

She might have said something further, but just then Clay appeared at the other end of the hall, and his gruff voice forestalled her.

"Juice," he said, sounding surprised. "Weren't you headed to the warehouse?"

He snapped to attention with an apologetic grimace at Olivia. "Hey, Clay. Yeah, I'm on my way now."

She pivoted away and offered Clay an innocent grin. "I waylaid him to ask about his leg, but I was actually looking for you. I've got some ideas I wanted to run past you for the project we talked about yesterday."

Clay's shrewd gaze had been flicking from Juice to Olivia and back again, but at her words she had his full attention. "Already?" he said.

"I'm good at what I do, Clay. It's why Gem hired me, remember?"

He let out an amused grunt and gestured for her to follow him. "Let's talk about it in the office," he said. "Juice, get out to the warehouse. They'll be wondering where you are."

"Yup," he said. "On my way."

She threw him a parting look over her shoulder, and there were a thousand things he could read in that expression. None of them were accusatory, and all he saw was compassion and a quiet ruefulness that stung like acid.

* * *

_It'll become more obvious in the next chapter, but keen-eyed readers might recognize a small shuffling of the timeline here: on the night Clay gives Juice the Men of Mayhem patch (the same night he tried to hang himself), I have him thinking about Lincoln Potter. On the show, however, he hadn't met Potter or been told about RICO until a few days later._

_I wrote the third section of this chapter and most of the first section of the next chapter a month or so ago, and now I'm fitting the pieces together a little differently than I originally planned. :)_


	14. Now I See

The first part of this chapter is all plot, but then there's a brief veer off into smut city in the second part. So, I mean. Proceed with caution if it's a problem for you.

* * *

**i've been around  
i've been here and i've been there**  
**thought i'd found true love but it was just underwear**  
**made me wonder what love might be**  
**well i was blind, now i see**  
Bob Schneider, "Medicine"

Her head shot up from the pillow with a jolt of terror and adrenaline. What—? Someone was pounding at her door. She glanced at the clock. At three AM. She closed her eyes and took a long breath. If whoever were at the door wanted to kill her, they probably wouldn't waste time knocking. She sat up and pressed a hand against her sleep-muddled head.

"Hang on!" she called. "I'm coming!"

She stumbled out of bed and pulled a short robe over the t-shirt and panties she slept in. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand and yawned as she groped her way down the hall and into the living room. She flipped a switch and light flooded the enclosed front porch and wide green lawn. A peek through the peephole left her more confused than ever, and she opened the door with a frown.

"Juice, it's the middle of the night. What's—?"

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go. I'm sorry." His voice was raw and cracked, frantic.

She blinked at him. He looked like shit. Pale and shaky and— "What happened to your neck?"

"Can I come in, Liv? Please?"

"Yeah." She stepped back. "Of course. You can leave your boots here on the porch and hang your gun and cut up there." She pointed to a wall-mounted coatrack.

He collapsed onto the padded bench and unlaced his boots. His fingers were shaking so badly he made a botch of it and tried again.

"Here," she said. She knelt in front of him. "Let me." She got one of his shoes off, then the other, and when she looked back up tears were streaming down his face. She reached out to touch him, but he flinched away.

"I didn't know where else to go," he said again.

She took his hand and pulled him gently to his feet. Stripped him of his cut and his gun and hung both on the rack. She led him into the living room and got him settled on the couch. "Stay here," she said. "I'll be right back."

He nodded dismally and stared at the floor without seeing it. He could hear her in the kitchen banging things around, and he spared a moment to appreciate how different the place looked from the last time he'd been here. There were walls, for one. Gleaming hardwood floors. There was a dining room to his left, and he could see into the kitchen through a passthrough in the dining room wall. A hallway stretched in front of him, and he remembered that it led to the one bedroom and bathroom.

It was small, but she'd made the most of the space. She'd restored the traditional Spanish feel of the place, from the texture on the walls to the arched doorways and thick beams set in the ceiling. There were colorful rag rugs thrown here and there and a painting he didn't recognize above the fireplace. He was surprised by how feminine the space was. Not _girly_, just…soft. There was no doubt a woman lived here, and a woman with taste and an eye for detail.

He accepted the steaming mug she offered when she returned, and a ghost of a smile moved across his face. "The place looks great."

"Thank you," she said as she settled on the sofa next to him. She curled her legs underneath her so that she faced him, and her bright eyes were steady on his. "It turned into a group effort before it was through. There's no way I could've done the ceiling by myself."

He grimaced in appreciation and sipped from the mug. The taste of mint sweetened with honey flooded his mouth, and the soothing heat felt so good on his raw throat he almost sobbed.

She watched him over the lip of her cup. He stared down into the pale liquid and shook his head. "I'm such a fuck up, Olivia," he whispered in his damaged voice.

Her head tilted. "Tell me," she said simply.

And so he did. About Eli and his father and the US Attorney. About the coke and Miles and the deal he'd been offered. About RICO and the dilemma he faced. When he was finally done a long silence followed. She set her mug down and her gaze never left his face.

"Say something," he said.

"I'm working through it," she said. "You did all this because you didn't want the club to know your father is black?"

He blinked and then gave a short, jerky nod. "It's in the bylaws."

"You're Puerto Rican. Hap is Mexican. V-Lin is Chinese. Chibs' wife is black."

"Old ladies are different," he muttered.

She cut a glare at him but otherwise ignored that. "But they'd draw the line at a black dad you've never even met before? Come on, Juice. Those bylaws were written by racist old bastards like Piney. Dinosaurs. Don't you think Jax would have a different view on things if you'd taken it to him?"

He ran a hand up his face and over the dome of his skull. "Yeah, maybe. I don't know. It's too late now anyway. I already stole the coke and killed Miles and now they can give _that_ to the club if I won't make the deal. The leverage is a moot point."

She let out a long, slow breath. "This is some fucked up shit, Juice."

He choked on a laugh. "You're tellin' me."

"You know you can't tell them. Not any of it."

He stared at her, brown eyes bright with unshed tears. "It's killin' me, Liv. They're my _brothers_. The club is my family. Miles was loyal, and now everybody thinks he was a thief. I'm the thief. I'm a fuckin' rat. I'm _nothing_."

She entwined her fingers with his and squeezed hard. "If you tell them now, they will kill you. They will take your patch and shoot you like a dog—_if_ you're lucky. That US Attorney will go ahead with RICO and the entire MC will be done. Every charter. Everywhere. Telling them now will be a loss for everyone, Juice. Everyone except the cops. What good does that do?"

He shook his head in stubborn denial, but he knew she was right. He had dug himself into this hole, and now all he could do was hunker down and wait for the storm to pass. "How do I live with it?" he said. "How do I make it right in my head?"

She didn't answer that, but it hadn't been a real question anyway. He couldn't make it right. He could only just barely live with it. She turned away and chewed her lip, and when she turned back her face was inscrutable.

"Don't make that deal, Juicy. There's another way."

"What way, Liv? Tell me. Because from where I'm sittin' all I see is shit."

"Roosevelt seems like a good cop. You really think he'd sell you out knowing full well you'd end up in an unmarked grave somewhere?"

"Fuck if I know," he said with a restless shrug. "And even if he wouldn't, this Potter guy would. Guy's stone cold."

"Okay," she said on a long breath. She opened her mouth, but closed it again and looked away with a troubled frown.

"What? What are you thinking?"

"I have an idea. It's not—it's not a _great_ idea, but I think it could work."

"You gonna tell me about it?" he said when she didn't continue.

"No. Not yet. I need you to trust me, Juice," she said. Her eyes were steady on his, bright and clear. "I need you to trust me. Don't take the deal. Just hang tight, okay?"

"I do trust you, Olivia, but—"

She shook her head to hush him, and he subsided with a frown. A small silence fell while he sipped his tea and brooded. _Not a great idea._ Her words loomed large, and he wondered. How bad was "not great?"

"What happened to your neck?" she said again, her tone so gentle it almost broke him.

He tugged his hand from hers and touched his throat. Winced. "I put a chain around a tree branch and tried to hang myself from it." His eyes slid away. "The branch broke."

"Good," she said.

"I'm not only a rat, I'm also a fucking coward."

"Mmm." Her tone was mild and a little annoyed. "You boys have a rather archaic view on mental health."

"What's that mean?" he said with a furrowed brow.

"Nothing," she said. "Just that, you know, depression isn't emasculating. It doesn't mean you're weak."

"I'm not depressed."

Her lips twisted and she finished off her cold tea. "Not sleeping. Barely eating. Lack of interest in things you once enjoyed. Suicidal thoughts or actions. Sure, Juicy. You're just kinda bummed a little."

He grimaced. "Olivia—"

She rose to her feet and took his mug. Set them both on the table next to the couch before she tugged him to his feet just like she'd done out on the porch. "Come on, Ortiz."

He trailed after her, his face scrunched with confusion. "Where are we going?"

"To bed. First I'm going to do some first aid on that neck of yours, and then you're going to sleep."

"Sleep?" he echoed.

"Uh huh. That thing you do in bed that isn't fucking or jerking off. Trust me; you'll remember how it works once you're under the covers all comfy cozy."

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been _comfy cozy_, but it sounded amazing. He nodded and blinked back tears. "Yeah, Liv. Yeah, okay."

* * *

For a full thirty seconds after he woke up he had no idea where he was. The sheets were cool and soft against his skin, and they smelled familiar—but not like his sheets. He opened his eyes and then screwed them shut again. The bed was set against one long wall, and just opposite him was a big arched window. Curtains filtered the sunlight, but still the room was bright.

He threw back the covers and sat up. He was at Olivia's. Her bedroom. Her bed. Last night came crashing back, and for a moment he couldn't move. He pressed a hand to his chest and rubbed at the ache there, but it wasn't the sort of pain that could be massaged away.

He could hear noises elsewhere in the house, and after a moment he dragged himself out of bed and down the hall. He stopped in the bathroom on his way to the kitchen, and when he got there he had to stop and stare. He made a noise, shuffled his feet against the floor and cleared his throat, and she turned to him with a bowl balanced against her stomach.

"Morning, sleepyhead. I don't have any coffee, but I can make you some black tea if you want. Caffeine without the heartburn."

He barely heard her. "Olivia," he said. His throat ached and he had to cough and try again. "Olivia, are you cooking?"

She pulled a face. "Yes, smartass, I am. Don't give me that look. Thanks to Gemma there are two things I can make: waffles and macaroni and cheese. Given that it's eleven in the morning I thought I'd make the former. If you don't want any I'll eat them myself."

"No, waffles sound great. Um, do you have any juice?"

"Mmhhmm," she said and nodded toward the fridge. It was cherry red and rounded at the corners, just like the stove. "Top shelf." She reached into the cabinet behind her and grabbed him a glass.

He filled it with orange juice and stared at it dubiously before he took a careful sip. Winced as the acid hit his throat. "Ugh."

She cast him an amused glance. "Sure you don't want that tea?"

"No thanks," he said. He worked on the juice and watched her from the corner of his eye. She'd apparently left her robe in the bedroom, because she wore only a pair of light blue hipster-style panties and a white t-shirt. He was suddenly conscious of his own state of undress. He wished he'd thought to pull his pants on over his shorts.

She set the bowl aside and dusted her hands on a towel. A frown flashed across her face as she spun in a slow circle. "Where the fuck did I put the waffle iron?" she muttered.

He ducked his head to hide a grin. Put his glass on the counter and stepped closer. She glanced up at him, surprised, as he grabbed her waist and pulled her to him.

"Good morning," she said with a slow smile.

He stroked her sides while she ran her hands up his chest to wrap her arms loosely around his neck. "Something on your mind, Ortiz?"

"A few things," he said. His eyes flicked down to her mouth. "I needed to touch you. After last night—"

"You had other things on your mind last night," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he said with a bitter grimace. "But I didn't want you to think—"

"What? What would I think, Juice? That there's something wrong with you because you weren't interested in sex an hour after your attempted suicide?"

He winced. "I wasn't—I just meant—" He let out a huff of impatience and rolled his eyes. "I'm always interested, Liv. With you, I mean. Just, last night—"

"You don't have to explain."

"I want to, though."

She pressed close and her lips curved. "I think some things speak for themselves," she murmured.

He dipped his head and kissed her, a hot, unhurried meld of lips. He'd missed the taste of her. The feel of her mouth beneath his. She trailed her fingers against the back of his neck and let her tongue brush his.

He pulled away and pressed their foreheads together. "I think I'm tired of taking things slow."

She laughed and slid her hand down his shorts. He hissed as she wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed. "I know I am."

Another kiss, this one harder, deeper, his teeth on her lip and her deep gasp of pleasure and surprise. He skated a hand up her body to cup her breast through her shirt; squeezed it gently and tugged on the hardening nipple. She made her thumb and index finger into an O and stroked up and down his cock: long and slow, short and just rough enough to make him whimper against her mouth.

She ran her tongue over his chest, across his nipples, along the line of his collarbone. Her teeth grazed him there, but she was careful to steer clear of the ugly ring of bruises around his throat. Her expression clouded and she pressed her mouth to the corner of his jaw.

"Baby, promise me something?" she said.

"Anything," he whispered in a strangled voice.

She smirked and let go of his dick. "Doesn't count if I'm jerking you off." She grabbed him by the ears and turned his head so he was looking at her. "Never do this again, Juice. Okay? You can always come to me, no matter what. Always."

He gave a jerky nod, somewhat hampered by her grip, and tears stood out in his eyes. "I promise, Liv. I promise."

"Good." She leaned back a little and reached for the hem of her shirt, but he got there first. An instant later it landed in the sink, and she laughed. "Careful, Ortiz. You're gonna make a mess."

He grinned. "I hope so." He pulled her against him and squeezed her ass while they kissed. She wiggled and slid her leg up to rub her thigh against his. He lifted her and somehow yanked her panties off in the same motion, so that by the time she hit the wooden counter she was naked.

She laughed again and tugged him closer. Pushed his shorts down and danced her fingers over his hipbones and up his chest. They kissed feverishly. Her legs wrapped around him and her heels pressed against the small of his back and with one long, hard thrust he was inside of her.

They both went still for a second. He held her face in his hands and her mouth tilted in a smile. Their lips met, their tongues, and it was a long time before either of them came up for air. He braced one hand on the cabinets above her head and another on the counter beside her, and with their eyes locked together he started to move.

Time seemed to stop, and the world narrowed so that everything else disappeared. There was only the two of them, the taste of her skin, the feel of his body against hers. He tried to go slow, but it was too much, he was too hungry for her, and after a quick nod of encouragement, he gave up all pretense of ease. His fingers locked around her hips and he hauled her against him. She moaned and dragged her knees higher, taking him deeper, and braced a hand on the cabinets above her.

He pressed his lips to her neck, to the sweet curve he loved so much, and as he mouthed her soft skin he whispered her name and babbled nonsense endearments that neither of them would quite remember later. His thumb found her clit, and he stroked it in opposite time to his thrusts. Her gasps turned sharper, higher, and her teeth scraped his shoulder.

He shuddered against her and grabbed the edge of the counter with his free hand. Their eyes met, and as hers started to close he shook his head.

"Don't," he grated out. "Look at me, babe. Look at me."

She did, and something about his face—his brown eyes huge and nearly all pupil, the sheen of sweat across his brow and the smile that toyed with his mouth—sent her over the edge. Her heels drummed against his ass and her thighs trembled as she clenched around him again and again, wave after wave as the orgasm seemed to last forever. He tightened his jaw and tried to hang on to his last razor's edge of control, but she dug her nails into his hips and yanked him against her.

He let out a cry and came hard; she gave a low, delighted laugh as she felt him spasm inside of her. Her arms went around his shoulders and he buried his face in her neck and they rode out the last shuddering waves wrapped up together.

Their chests heaved in and out in almost identical rhythm as they struggled to get their breath back. She stroked the line of his skull, from his forehead down to the back of the neck, and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

"Maybe one day," she said, "we'll make it to the bedroom."

"Maybe," he said. Then his eyes closed and his face scrunched. "Fuck," he muttered.

"That's accurate," she said.

He snorted out a chuckle. "No, I mean…we forgot…" He frowned and shifted his hips so that he slid out of her. "I didn't even think about a condom. I don't know—I'm so sorry. I'm a fucking idiot."

Her brows drew together. "It's all your responsibility? I'm off the hook?"

"Well, no, I just meant—"

"Do you have anything that I might need to worry about catching?"

He blinked. "No, of course not; I just got tested a few weeks ago."

"Okay then." She kissed his nose. "Don't make that face. It's fine."

His head tilted and the furrows in his forehead deepened. "Olivia, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but—"

She laughed and slid off the counter. "Juice. I had my tubes tied when I was twenty-two. I'm not worried about any unexpected Juan Carlitos." She cast around for her underwear, but he stopped her with a hand on his arm.

"Wait. I don't understand." He swallowed past the pain in his throat. "Not that I know much about it, but isn't that something they don't like to do until you're—you're kinda older? In case you change your mind?"

"Um." For a moment she wouldn't meet his eyes, and when she finally did her face was wary. "Usually, yeah. But after my third _accidental_"—she said the word so bitterly he winced—"miscarriage, my doctor was more than happy to do it for me. In secret, of course."

He stared at her. Just when he thought he couldn't despise her bastard of an ex any more, she told him something new that made him want to rip the man's lungs out and feed them to him while he choked. "I swear to God, Olivia, if he weren't already dead—"

She lifted a hand to stop him. "It's okay, Juice." She bit her lip. "It's reversible, sometimes. Though I…I don't know. I think I'm even less cut out to be a mom than I am to be an old lady. Kids are hard and I'm…pretty fuckin' selfish, when you come right down to it."

He didn't really believe that last part, but he didn't want to argue the point. "I chose this life for myself, and, you know, it didn't used to be this nuts," he said, his rough voice thoughtful. "Jax says everything he does is for his kids, so his kids won't have to live the same life he did, but it seems like every choice he makes just gets us all in deeper. I know that's not entirely his fault, and it's not that I _blame_ him for it, just…" He trailed off and shook his head.

"Thomas and Abel will have this club in their blood, just like Jax," she said. "The other guys, their kids are older. Or away, like Chibs' daughter. It's different for them."

"I like kids." He shrugged and his eyes crinkled with a rueful smile. "They're fun and cute and all that, but this isn't any life for a kid. These days it's barely a life for me."

"Well," she said with a wry tilt to her mouth, "surely a steady diet of really hot sex can only improve things, right?"

He was smart enough to recognize a change of subject when it hit him over the head, so he took her cue and grinned. "Sure as hell can't hurt."

He kissed her then, a slow, easy dance, and felt her relax against him. Something occurred to him and he pulled away. She cast him a questioning look.

"What's your real name, baby?"

Her head tilted in astonishment. "Did you just quote _Dirty Dancing_?"

He grinned. "Maybe. A little."

"Jesus," she said with a half-exasperated roll of her eyes. She lifted a hand in a shrug. "Audra," she said. "Audra Jameson Munro." A pause. "I took his name, of course, but—well. No one will ever call me that again. Audra Flanary is dead. I killed her just as surely as I killed him."

Her brow furrowed. "You know, I think Audra Munro is dead, too. I'm Olivia Gable now. Have been for a while."

"Munro. Is that Scottish?"

"Um hum." She flashed a grin. "Don't tell Chibs. He'll figure out a way to gloat about it. Somehow."

"It's a pretty name," he said. "But you're _Olivia_ to me, so I guess that's what you'll be."

"Just not _Ollie_, yeah?"

He brushed a hand along her jaw and his face went serious. "I'm sorry. I didn't know—" He broke off. "That's not true. Of course I knew. I thought if I called you that it would be better. Just like everyone else, ya know?"

"I get it."

"I didn't think it would hurt you so much, though. That wasn't what I meant."

"Hey." She touched his face with light fingers. "I know that." She drew in a long breath. "We've got a lot of bullshit behind us, Juicy. We've both said and done things to hurt each other, and if we dwell on it we'll never—we won't have a chance. So let's just forget all that and…see what happens."

"Yeah." He drew her against him and lowered his forehead to hers. "Yeah, I like that."

"I thought you might," she said. She kissed his chest and her smile turned mischievous. "I think I'd like a shower before breakfast." She slipped away and paused in the door to cast a long look over her shoulder. "Care to join me?"

He almost stumbled in his haste to follow her, and the warm honey of her laugh lingered in the air for a long time.

* * *

_So this is in no way a self-insertion fic, but I gotta admit that Olivia's reaction to Potters' "leverage" about Juice's dad was pretty much my exact reaction, too._

_There aren't a lot of canon plot points I'm gonna __straight-up_ change with this story, but Juice taking the RICO deal is one of them. See also: Chibs' extreme mistrust/bitterness towards Juice in s5-6 _(especially after the beat down in s6)_, bc frankly I think that shit was kinda ooc from what we've seen from Chibs over the years. But it's only SORT OF a fix-it fic, so don't get too comfy cozy.


	15. Let it Wash Away

Sooo okay. I was a little blocked when I sat down to write this, so I decided to abandon plot for a minute and just, ya know. Have some fun. So here there be ~1k words of plot followed by pure smut. Smutty McSmutterson. Midnight Train to Smutville. Smuts 'R' Us.

If that bothers you, you could easily skip this chapter and miss absolutely nothing important.

* * *

**i stand out in the rain in the middle of the night  
i wish that it could wash away the beast inside**

**the only thing i wanna do is kiss you  
when i am coming deep inside of you**  
**the only sound that i wanna hear**  
**is the rain against my window as i hold you in my arms**  
-Everclear, "Portland Rain"

Olivia had the day off, and after Juice left she debated running a few errands. She could use some groceries (especially if one-man eating machine Juice Ortiz were going to be hanging around), and she needed to return Lyla's casserole dish—but ultimately she decided to be lazy, and to that end curled up on the sofa with a fat book. She was about a hundred pages in when her cell rang. She recognized Gemma's number on the caller ID and debated ignoring it, but eventually she flipped it open and hit _send_.

"Hey, Gem, what's up?" she said, marking her place in the book with a finger.

"Hey, Ollie."

In just those two words her voice sounded tense, and Olivia was immediately alert. She sat up and put the book aside.

"Today's your day off, right?" she continued.

Gemma knew perfectly well it was. They'd talked about it yesterday as she'd said goodbye. Her brow furrowed and she moved to the window. Lifted the curtain and peeked outside. She could hear the drone of motorcycle engines in the distance, and they were getting closer.

"Yep," she said. "Just puttering around the house, really. Probably gonna clean the bathroom next."

"That sounds nice."

"Uh huh." She wondered at the banality of the conversation and figured someone must be listening in on Gemma's end.

Two bikes appeared at the end of street, and Olivia's eyes narrowed as she focused on them.

"I just wanted to let you know we don't need your help around here after all. Chucky's got the chili under control, so you should just enjoy your day. Maybe we'll see you at the fundraiser tonight."

She hadn't had any intention of hitting the garage today, and Gemma sure as fuck hadn't asked her to help with the chili for the fundraiser. Something big must be going down, and Gemma wanted her well clear of it.

She cleared her throat and let the curtain drop. "You got any idea why Kozik and Ratboy just pulled up in front of my house?"

"Oh!" Gemma said with a little laugh. "I almost forgot. I sent a couple of the guys your way to take a look at that leaky pipe. They should be there any minute."

Olivia rolled her eyes. Obviously whoever was hovering over Gemma had never met Olivia. "Great, Gem. Thanks."

"No problem, Ollie. I've gotta go, but—listen, if you don't feel like coming to the fundraiser tonight, don't worry about it. I'll be sure to pass along your regrets to Mrs. Roosevelt. Or I'll have Eli do it when I see him."

Her heart stuttered. The Sheriff's wife was running the fundraiser? Well fuck. And the next part was clear, too: the compound was crawling with cops, and the oh-so-keen Sheriff himself would be stopping by any time. Steer clear indeed. She let out a small sigh. "Thank you, Gemma," she said, quietly.

"Take care of yourself, baby. We'll see you tomorrow."

The two women said goodbye and Olivia hung up the phone. She tucked it in her pocket and stepped outside to say hello to Kozik and Rat. Fucking drug cartels, she thought with an internal sigh. What exactly had she gotten herself into?

* * *

She had been wearing a bald spot in her living room floor for almost twenty minutes by the time Juice finally knocked on her door that night. It had _only_ been twenty minutes because she'd already cleaned nearly every surface in her house to within an inch of its life. She'd also reorganized the bookshelf in her bedroom and alphabetized her spice rack. Made so much tea for Rat and Kozik that they were probably floating. Ate a hasty supper of leftovers and washed and dried each dish until it shone.

She froze when she heard his bike outside. He exchanged brief words with Rat (Kozik had been pulled elsewhere sometime that evening), and then a bike roared to life. The engine noise had almost faded before Juice banged on the door.

She threw it open and yanked him inside by his cut. "I was so fucking worried," she said. "Where have you been? Why didn't you call?"

He was briefly flustered, but the confusion cleared fast. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his nose to her hair. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have. It's been a crazy day."

"Kozik and Rat told me about the shooting," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "They said nobody was hurt, but there were heads in a bag, including Armando's? President of Tucson, right? What the _fuck_, Juice?"

"This cartel shit." He eased away from her and dropped down onto the bench to strip off his boots. "It's fucked up, Liv. Way more than any of us bargained for."

She leaned against the living room doorway and crossed her arms. She studied him with a frown between her brows as he pulled off his boots. He stood and shrugged out of his cut and holster. His movements were stiff, his face—something.

"What happened, Juicy?" she said with a step toward him.

The gentleness of her voice stopped him. He turned slowly away from the coatrack, and when he met her eyes his face fell. "Chibs figured out what I did last night."

"Shit," she said on a long breath. "What happened?"

He hitched a shoulder and looked away. His jaw tightened. "He called me a coward. And he's right."

"Oh, sweetheart." She took his face in her hands and kissed him. His arms went around her again.

He muffled a sob against the side of her neck and she just held him while he cried. She ran her hand over his scalp and down his back, but she didn't try to hush him. She didn't tell him everything would be okay. She had no idea if it would, and half expected that it wouldn't. There was no point in meaningless platitudes. They were trapped in a hopeless, impossible situation, and the only thing either of them could do now was hold on tight and hope to fuck they could ride it out.

"Jesus." He sniffled hard and pulled away. "I cried all over Chibs, too," he said with a sheepish grimace. "I'm a fucking mess tonight."

"You're allowed to be a mess, Juice. Do you get that? You're allowed to fall apart sometimes."

He shook his head, a sharp denial. "Clay called me his son last night. When he gave me that patch? He said I was like a son to him, and the whole time he was talking all I could see was Miles's face. I could feel his blood on me."

Now she did quiet him. "Hush," she said and kissed him again. "You're here now. Here none of the shit out there matters."

He kissed her back, at first tentatively, but then with growing fervor. Her lips were hot and sweet against his, and he tore away only to skim his mouth down the side of her neck. He dipped his tongue into the hollow of her throat and planted soft, sucking kisses along the top of her shirt.

"Hey," she said, her voice a touch breathless. "Hey, have you eaten yet?"

He shook his head. "Don't want food," he muttered against her skin. "Just you, Liv."

"Hhmm. Come on, then," she said as she pulled away. He frowned in confusion and she laughed. "I thought maybe we could make it to the bedroom for once."

His expression morphed into a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. She stopped short. Her breath suddenly caught in her throat and for a moment she felt dizzy, like the world around her had just tilted and then straightened itself again.

She shook the sensation off and pulled him after her down the hall. He wrapped an arm around her from behind and kissed her neck. Lifted her off her feet as she laughed and dragged her through the bedroom door. It slammed shut behind them and he pressed her against it.

He paused for a moment to study her face. The flushed cheeks. The wide, laughing eyes. The full mouth. The freckles he could count in his sleep.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing." He hesitated. Dipped his head to kiss her. "Nothing," he whispered against her lips. He pulled her shirt over her head and got rid of it, and this time as he kissed her throat he didn't stop at her collarbone. Her breath hitched and caught as his mouth moved down between her breasts. Skimmed over her ribs. He ran his tongue around a burst of gray blossoms just above the waist of her shorts.

He unbuttoned them and she kicked them away. He licked across the scar on her hip, and then down. He found the scars on her thigh, the thick one higher up, obscured by her tattoo, and the thinner one down near her knee. He kissed them as though his mouth could heal her skin and the still-aching bones beneath it, and for just one wild, irrational moment she thought maybe he could.

He straightened and pulled her with him toward the bed, his lips never leaving hers. His legs hit the mattress and he stumbled, and they tumbled onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs. He rolled over on top of her and pressed his body against hers as they kissed.

He thought he could get drunk just from the taste of her alone.

When they first hit the bed she was fine. His mouth and hands were distraction enough, and she didn't even register his weight pressing her against the mattress. But then something changed—a shift, like back in the living room, but…not in a good way—and she felt a zing of panic flash through her. She fought off the urge to claw and bite and kick. She closed her eyes and took a long breath through her nose. His familiar scent washed over her: sandalwood and leather, clean sweat and a hint of cigarettes.

Juice. She was with Juice. Everything was okay.

She moved beneath him and he lifted his head to look at her. Something in her eyes made him pause: there was a sudden wariness there, a light he recognized from when someone came up behind her or she had her back to the room. He realized with a jerk that she didn't like having him on top of her, and he started to pull away.

"Wait," she said. "It's okay. I'm good."

But her smile was tremulous, and he hesitated.

"I don't want—"

"I know. I promise I'm okay. Don't stop, Juicy. Please."

His brow wrinkled and he dropped his head to kiss her again. He moved down slowly, easing his weight off of her, and she helped him get rid of her bra. He closed a hand around her breast—each one was a nice handful—and squeezed just a little. His mouth found the other one, and he kissed along the curve until he reached her nipple. She let out a soft gasp as he sucked, but he didn't linger there long.

He ran his tongue down her stomach, over the swell of her tummy, and when he reached her panties he slid his hand just inside and let his thumb brush against the fabric between her legs. She wiggled and he grinned as he mouthed the soft skin of her inner thigh. He knew she was ticklish there, so he ran the tip of his tongue in teasing little circles that made her breath hitch with giggles.

"You're a cruel man, Ortiz," she said as she ran a hand over his head.

"You love it."

"Beside the point."

"Hum." He tugged her panties aside and licked a line down her slit all the way to the curve of her ass.

She hissed out a sharp breath. He pulled her underwear off and grabbed her hips to haul her in closer. Draped her knees over his arms and buried his face in her cunt. He flicked his tongue across her clit, short, teasing darts until she writhed beneath him.

Each flick was like an electric spark, hot and sharp, and his teasing was making her crazy. She squirmed and tried to tug him closer, but he backed off with a grin. She bit out a frustrated curse that made him laugh.

"Juice—"

He cut her off by dragging his tongue down to her ass. He lingered there, swirling his tongue around her hole. He wriggled it into her a little, and her breath took on an interesting new cadence. He made careful note of that for later and licked his way back up again.

He lapped at her with long, lazy licks up and down. He lavished attention on her outer lips, and then thoroughly explored the inner. He avoided her clit and swirled his tongue above and around it, but then her pleas were too much for him to ignore and he captured the slick, swollen nub between his lips. He sucked it in and out. Flicked it hard with his tongue. She moaned and whimpered his name, and he moved on.

He dipped his tongue inside of her and swirled it. Pressed his nose to her clit as he worked his tongue in and out. She gripped the back of his head and rocked against his face.

"Juice, oh fuck, baby, that's—" Her words cut out with a moan and her fingers scrabbled against the headboard. She was mindless, lust-addled, and every brush of his mouth against her only wound her tighter. The feel of the sheets against her skin was almost more than she could bear, and a very faint, far away part of her brain wondered how he could possibly do this to her. Was she really so lost over him?

_Yes_, she thought, and at the noise he made she realized she'd said it aloud. She said it again, a little louder, and then chanted it in a soft litany as she finally loosened the white-knuckled grasp she kept on her control.

He bobbed his head up and down and lashed her with his tongue. Her wetness poured into his mouth and he drank it down like nectar. He felt her legs go tight. He didn't let up, and an instant later she was trembling and shuddering in the grip of her orgasm. He raised his head to look at her, a smile stretching his face, and thrust two fingers into her before the aftershocks had passed.

Her back arched in surprise. "What—? Ohh!"

His fingers twisted inside of her and he lowered his mouth back to her clit. He worked it with his tongue, licking and sucking and just barely scraping with his teeth, while he moved his fingers in a slow, rhythmic thrust. He stroked them against the front wall, over her G spot, and she almost came up off the bed. He grinned against her and did it again. Lapped his tongue down to meet his fingers and then licked back up again.

Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back. Her face was flushed and tendrils of hair stuck to her neck and temples. It was, he thought as he watched her, the sexiest sight he'd ever seen.

He gave her clit a long, slow suck followed by several short, quick ones. His fingers twisted, and with a breathless cry she came again. He whispered something against her hot, slick flesh that she couldn't understand, and slowly, slowly he eased his fingers out of her. He flicked his tongue against her one last time before he pressed his mouth to her thigh and pulled away.

She grinned down at him, a little drunkenly, and he moved up to lie next to her. She kissed him and savored the taste of her on his lips and tongue. She felt limp and warm and tingly all over, and her senses were still scrambled.

"I can't feel my legs," she said.

"Yeah?" he said. "Hhmm. I'll try to be more careful next time."

"Not complaining." Her expression stilled and she eyed him up and down. "You're still dressed."

"Uh huh." He shifted, and his cock pressed uncomfortably against his pants. "I probably should've taken care of that first, but—" He shrugged a shoulder. "I was busy."

"You were that," she said with a quirk of her brow. She unfastened his belt and her hand lingered near his waist. "I should probably return the favor."

"Um." He shifted again. "Well, you know, it's not really a quid pro quo thing."

"Oh?" Her head tilted. "I can never say that. It always gets tangled up in my mouth." She undid the button and tugged his zipper down. "You don't want to come?" she said, face furrowed with teasing concern.

"Er, no. I didn't mean—"

"Because if that's the case, then I'm sure I could make it last a very"—she kissed his jaw—"long"—brushed her fingers over the bulge in his underwear—"time."

He swallowed hard. "I'm sure you could," he managed.

"I think you kind of like that idea." She pushed his shirt up to his chin and licked a line from his bellybutton to the center of his chest. "Is that what you want, baby? Do you want me to tease you for a while?"

He let out a strangled gasp and moved against her hand.

"Or maybe," she said before he could answer, "you want me to _tell_ you when you can come." Her lips curved in a wicked grin. "You want my _permission_ first," she almost purred.

His mouth fell open and he was practically writhing as she stroked him through his boxer briefs.

"Ah hah," she said. She pulled away and sat back on her heels. "Take your pants off, sugar. Underwear too."

He hastily did as she said, his hands trembling and his movements clumsy as he kicked his clothes away. "Shirt?"

"No," she said. "We're gonna leave that for now." She leaned over him and kissed his chest. Ran her tongue along the tattoo that curved under his right pec. "So much ink," she said and trailed her hand up the inside of his thigh. "You're a decorated man, Ortiz."

He let out a long breath. "I'm thinking about—ah—thinking about another one. Across—across my chest."

"You'll have to show me the design," she said. "I'd be interested to see it."

"Uh huh," he said with a stuttering nod.

She leaned further, until she was half hanging off the bed, and he grabbed her leg in alarm. She shot an amused glance over her shoulder. Opened the bottom drawer of her nightstand and dug through the contents. He tried to get a peek, but she shut it before he could.

When she sat up again she had a bottle in her hand. He tilted his head to read the label and his eyes widened a little. She straddled his waist. Waved the bottle under his nose.

"I bet you're wondering what I'm doing with a bottle of lube."

"I, uh. Not a lot of brain cells working, but yeah. Kinda."

She threw back her head and laughed. Leaned down to kiss him long and slow. "I adore you, Ortiz. Did you know?"

A slow smile unfurled across his face. "I kind of suspected"—she swatted him on the shoulder and his grin deepened—"but it's nice to hear."

She dropped another kiss on his mouth and then straightened. She set the bottle on the nightstand and pumped some out into her hand. Her eyes were steady on his as she reached behind her and grasped his cock. His breath _whooshed_ out in a rush. She stroked her slick hand up and down while he gripped her thighs hard enough to leave marks.

She wiggled backwards until her ass was pressed against his slippery length. She rocked her hips and he slid against her. They let out almost identical sighs of pleasure as his cock nestled between her cheeks and he moved his hips in an eager thrust.

She pulled his shirt over his head and kissed him. He grabbed the curve of her ass and squeezed her around him. Squeezed and released as their hips moved in sync. He reached for more lube. The sounds she made as he played with her hole made him nuts, but she pulled his fingers away with a shake of her head.

"Behave," she said, a little breathlessly.

"Sorry," he said with an unrepentant smirk.

Her mouth twisted. She lifted her hips. His cock slid free and he reached for her with a little moan. "Behave," she whispered, her mouth hovering above his.

"I will," he said. "I promise."

She laughed softly and dropped down again, this time burying him to the hilt inside of her.

"Fuck!" he said, a strangled cry, and he jerked against her before he could stop himself.

She made a clicking noise with her tongue and bit him lightly on the chin. Her hips moved, a slow undulation as she clenched him deep inside. She was so wet that he slipped in and out of her with blissful, brain-scrambling ease.

"Good, baby?" she murmured.

He could only nod. She pressed her hand against his chest and used it as leverage to move faster. Harder. Her thighs were tight around his hips and he felt like every drop of blood in his body was in his pounding, aching cock.

He gritted his teeth and tried to focus. She laughed and shifted to change the angle.

"You want to come, don't you?" she said. She ran the fingers of her free hand down his face.

"Yeah—yes!—but not yet," he said. "Not—not until—until you say."

"Mmm, that's good. Good boy."

She lifted his hand up to her hip and held it there. She ground against him. She hadn't thought she would come again, but he felt so good, and the look of concentration on his face as he watched her with lust-blown eyes and that line between his brows was so fucking _hot_. Her teeth nipped his lip. He pulled her down to him and thrust up into her and her head fell back. Her nails dug into his chest. She tightened around him and her breath came in short, desperate gasps as the orgasm hit.

"Not yet, baby," she managed, and he jerked his head in a nod. He'd never wanted to come so badly in his life, but somehow he managed to ride out the heated grip of her climax without losing it.

She went still and ran her hands down his chest. Her eyes were steady on his, big and heavy-lidded. She tugged on his shoulder. "Come here."

He sat up and gathered her against him. She wiggled her hips until she was settled and he bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. His arms encircled her and her fingers ran over his skull and down the back of his neck.

"Your turn," she whispered in his ear.

He let out a breath and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. She moved against him. He mouthed her soft skin and lifted her up and down on his throbbing cock. She moaned—a hot, breathless sound—and his control snapped. He thrust up into her and cried out; maybe her name, maybe to God, maybe just wordless nonsense. She gripped his head and he felt her shudder. His mind blanked and for a few moments he thought he might pass out.

When his head cleared again—sort of—he kissed her temple and licked away a trail of sweat that curled down from her hairline. He shifted beneath her and she gasped a little. "Humm," he said. "Did you—?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"_Again_—?"

She leaned back with a hazy half-smile. "Don't let it go to your head, Ortiz."

He shook his head, eyes wide and innocent. "Never." He gathered her against him and ran a hand down the long rope of her hair. She rested her forehead against his neck—a bare brush of her skin on his, not enough to hurt—and closed her eyes.

The peace of the moment washed over her, and with it a tiny stab of fear. She didn't trust contentment; didn't believe in it. So now, when she felt as content as she could ever remember, it made her uneasy. How could such sweetness last when the world outside was a tempest?

She was so quiet and still he thought she might have fallen asleep.

"Do you think it gets better than this?" he murmured into her hair.

"Hhmm?" she said, a soft, puzzled noise.

"I just mean—" He frowned and tried to explain. "I just mean I can't remember ever feeling better than I do right now." He made a frustrated gesture as she looked at him. "I don't mean the sex. Obviously that part was crazy and amazing and I'm looking forward to doing it again—"

"Already?" she said with a laugh.

"But I mean _this_. Right now. Does it get any better? Because I can't imagine it if it does."

Her expression stilled and her bright eyes turned serious. "I don't know, baby," she said after a long, thoughtful moment. "Maybe it does. Maybe it just keeps on getting better. Isn't that—isn't that sort of the point?"

His mouth quirked and he settled back against the headboard. She untangled herself from around him and stretched out along his side. He toyed with her fingers and watched the shadows from the tree outside dance across the ceiling.

He liked that idea, but he wondered if such a thing were really possible. When in his life had anything ever gotten _better_? Things only ever seemed to get worse.

"That'd be something," he said at last.

"Yeah, Juicy." She pressed her lips to his chest and he didn't see her bittersweet smile. "It definitely would be something."

* * *

_Like I said..._


	16. Brass in Pocket

I skipped a day of updating in order to get a little caught up, and now I have written through ch18 w 19 sort of sketched out.

Reviews help me so, so much, you guys! I had no idea when I started that this was going to be quite so epic. Thank you for your encouraging words!

* * *

**i got brass in pocket  
and i'm gonna use it**  
-The Pretenders, "Brass in Pocket"

When Olivia heard what had happened to Tara, she almost had a panic attack in sympathy.

Obviously she was just a mechanic and Tara was a surgeon—a surgeon who operated on little babies, for fuck's sake—but at the same time she couldn't imagine what she would do if something happened to one of her hands. Cars or babies, she and Tara both lived and died by the skill of their hands.

And so once more Olivia was on her way to the hospital to visit someone injured due to their association with SAMCRO. She wondered how many times she'd have to make this trip, and when one day _she_ would be the one in the hospital bed with everyone coming to see _her_. It was, she thought, only a matter of time.

Rat and Phil were posted at the door, and they both nodded as she approached.

"Hey, Ollie," Rat said. "You here to see Tara?"

"Mhhmm. How's she doing?"

Phil hitched a shoulder. "Okay, I guess. She don't say much."

"Jax is in there with her now," Rat said.

She nodded and patted his arm as she went by. "Thanks, guys. Keep up the good work."

She knocked softly and poked her head around the door. Jax was slumped in the chair beside the bed, and it looked like he was dozing. At the sound of footsteps his head snapped up and toward her. He relaxed when he recognized her, but for a few seconds she had thought he might shoot her.

"Jackson," she said, her tone wary.

"Ollie. Sorry, I—I guess I fell asleep."

"It's okay. I might've had a similar reaction, all things considered."

He looked like shit: exhausted and strung out, and his normally clear blue eyes were glazed with something she recognized. He was afraid. Afraid and unsure, because he had no idea where to turn for help.

"Why don't you step out for a minute? Grab some coffee. Get some air."

He scraped a hand over his face and shook his head. "I can't. I don't want her to wake up alone."

"I'll stay with her, Jax. I know she wouldn't want you to make yourself nuts. Take a break."

He frowned at Tara's still form and then glanced toward Olivia. "Yeah, I guess. I'll be right back, though."

Her mouth quirked. "I'll be here."

He hesitated at the door, but with one last look at Tara he slipped out and closed it gently behind him. Olivia let out a quiet sigh and sank down in the chair. It was, as Juice had said, shit. She shifted her weight and leaned back. The room was quiet, and the hospital sounds from the hall filtered in through the closed door. A doctor was paged; a nurse's shoes squeaked; some monitor somewhere beeped.

Olivia hadn't brought flowers this time—she had a feeling Tara wouldn't want them—but there were a few bouquets on the bedside table. She added water to one, and as she set the pitcher back on the tray Tara's eyes fluttered open.

"Jax…?" she said in a sleepy, drugged voice.

"No, Tara, it's Olivia. Jax stepped out for a sec, but I can—"

"Wait," she said as Olivia started for the door. "Don't. He'll be back soon, I'm sure."

"You don't sound thrilled at that idea," she said and sat again.

Her head lolled against the pillow. "He's very loud even when he isn't saying a word. His guilt and his anger. It's like shouting."

"Hum," Olivia said. She understood exactly what Tara meant. It was something she was more familiar with than she'd like to be. "And how about your anger? How's that working out for you?"

Tara rasped out a laugh. "It's all I've got right now. I swear to God, Ollie, if you tell me everything's going to be okay—if _one more person_ says that to me—"

"Hey." She held up a hand. "I wasn't going to. This fucking sucks, Tara. I can't imagine anything much worse for someone like you."

"Wow," she said. "You know how to cheer a girl up."

She acknowledged that with a wry twist of her lips. "My ex broke three of my fingers once. Slammed my hand in a car door."

"Sounds familiar."

"Mmhhmm. I got lucky. They were just broken, and bones heal." She paused. "Nerves heal too."

"Liar. You're sneaky about it, but you _are_ telling me everything will be okay."

"Maybe it will. Even I get surprised by the Universe sometimes."

"Yeah," Tara said. Her tone was bitter. "I guess it happens. Just not usually to people like us."

"Then maybe we're due," Olivia said with a little smile.

"I just wanted out of Charming, Ollie. I wanted my boys clear of all this—all this shit. Fucking drug cartels and the IRA and car bombs and—everything. Why was that too much to ask? This town is like a living thing. Once it sucks you in it never lets you go."

"I'm beginning to get that impression," she said.

"You should've run when you had the chance."

"Probably. Too late now, though."

Tara cut a look her way, and her dark eyes were knowing. "I think you could be good for him. He doesn't have much. The guys never—they never give him a break. He needs something that's just _his_." Her face scrunched. "I don't mean to make you sound like some sort of prize he won at the fair."

The image made her laugh. "It's okay. I get what you're saying. And you're right, at least about what he deserves. Whether or not I'm the right person? Hm." She flicked her fingers. "I guess that remains to be seen."

Tara peered at her. "So you're together now? Actually together? We can all stop pretending we don't notice?"

"Oh geez," Olivia said with a grimace. "Um…no? Or maybe yes. I, um. I don't know."

"So keep pretending?"

"Yeah," she said and sighed. "Keep pretending."

A few beats of thoughtful silence.

"It's not easy being an old lady, Olivia."

"Exactly why I've worked my ass off to avoid it for the last six years."

"I guess Charming had other plans," Tara said with a sardonic smile.

Olivia shrugged a shoulder. "Charming, the aforementioned Universe—whatever. Yeah. Woman plans, it laughs."

Tara's mouth quirked in appreciation, but then her head fell back against the pillow and she closed her eyes. Olivia shifted again and let her gaze drift toward the window. The blinds were open, and she could see a sliver of moon peeking through the clouds.

"Can I ask you something, Tara?"

"Mmm. Go for it." Her voice was hazy, skirting the edge of sleep, and Olivia almost told her never mind. It could wait.

Except it couldn't, and if she didn't ask now she never would.

"What would you do for Jax?"

A crease formed between Tara's brows as she rocked her head toward Olivia. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…how far would you go to protect him? If you had a chance to save him from something, maybe even just himself, but doing so would be…hard. A sacrifice, I guess. How much would you give up for him?"

"Anything," she said after a moment. "Anything except my boys."

It was what she'd been expecting, but still it was a bitter pill. No. _Bitter_ wasn't quite the right word. She'd mostly already made up her mind anyway. Tara was just confirming her own gut instinct.

"What's this about, Ollie?" Tara said, her tone suspicious and her gaze suddenly sharp.

She gave a quick shake of her head. "Nothing. It was just a hypothetical, really."

"Hhhmm," she said. She was unconvinced.

"I should go find Jax," Olivia said. "If he finds out I was in here chatting you up when you should be resting he'll have my head."

Tara's eyes had closed again, and she didn't open them as she said, "Be careful, Ollie. Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't, Tara." She brushed her fingers across the back of Tara's good hand. "Get some rest."

She didn't reply, and Olivia thought she was probably already asleep. She pointed Jax back to her room on the way out, and once in her car she sat for a long time, her fingers tight on the wheel.

She wiped a hand across her eyes and sniffed hard. Picked up her phone and dialed his number.

"Hey," she said when he picked up. "Where are you?" A pause as she listened. "Good. I'm on my way."

* * *

She pulled into his driveway and cut the engine. She didn't think she'd ever been to his place when he was actually in it. She only knew where it was because they'd all rotated keeping the guys' houses up while they were in prison. She'd planted flowers out front (like she'd done for all of them, much to Happy's chagrin—he thought she was trying to ruin his rep), and she was pleased to see he hadn't let them die.

He opened the door to her knock with one of those huge, face-transforming grins, and suddenly she had to fight back tears. She was making the right decision. It was the only choice. Didn't mean she had to like it. Didn't mean she wouldn't regret it, maybe forever.

"Hey—"

"Hush," she said. She pushed him into the house and kicked the door shut behind her. Her mouth found his, and her kiss was rough, demanding, and for a second he froze. Then he caught up and kissed her back. Her teeth snagged his lip and her tongue scraped the inside of his mouth and she dragged him to her with her fists balled in his shirt.

"Whoa, hey, what's up?" he said when they parted for air.

"Don't want to talk. I'm tired of talking."

She kissed him again and they stumbled toward the bedroom. She pulled away long enough to yank his shirt over his head, and then she shoved him onto the bed. He hit the mattress hard and watched her with wide, surprised eyes as she stripped off her own shirt. Toed off her shoes and unzipped her skirt so that it fell in a puddle at her feet. Her bra and panties matched, and the sight of her pale skin set off by midnight blue lace and silk was almost his undoing.

"Babe—" he choked out.

"What did I say?" she murmured as she crawled toward him. "Don't talk. Just fuck."

She tugged his pants down and pulled him free of his underwear. He was hard and hot in her hand, and when she squeezed him he let out a strangled gasp. Her mouth moved in a wicked curve. She leaned down and ran her tongue from the base of his cock to the tip and watched his face transform. His brow scrunched and his mouth fell open and the crinkles appeared around his eyes. She sucked him between her lips and his head fell back as he groaned.

She swirled her tongue around the head of his cock and listened to him pant. She stroked him with one hand while her mouth worked him, played with his balls with the other, and when he started to make a particularly desperate wheezing sort of noise she pulled away.

His eyes were huge as he stared at her. She laughed and ran her tongue from his belly to his collarbone. She straddled him—at some point she'd gotten rid of her panties, he noticed—and pressed her hands to his chest to hold him down. He was stronger than she, of course, and he easily could've shaken her off, but he was transfixed as she moved above him. Her hair was coming loose from its braid and it fell around her face like a corona of red shot through with gold. She dipped to kiss him and he grasped her hips and kneaded.

She moaned against his mouth and he lifted her up and onto his cock. She was dripping wet, hot and slick and more than ready. She didn't bother to tease. No sooner was he inside her than she was grinding her hips against him and rocking to take him deeper. She squeezed her breasts through her bra and tugged one of the cups down to toy with the nipple. He let out a furious curse that made her laugh, low and smoky with a jangled edge.

"_Fuck_, Liv—"

"Exactly," she said. "Now you're catching on."

He caught his lip between his teeth and the muscles in his neck stood out like cords as she rode him. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin against skin; sharp, fevered breaths; and pleasure-soaked moans. She slid a hand down her body toward where they were joined, but he stopped her.

"Let me," he said. "Please."

She gave a quick, wordless nod, and he pressed his fingers against her clit. He held them still, creating a little v for the slippery nub to slide against as she moved. Her head fell back and her nails left half-moons in his chest. He thrust up into her as she dropped down onto him, and then suddenly she was coming, clenching around him again and again like a furious storm.

She slowed into a smooth, sensual rhythm that made him almost forget his own name. She leaned down, and with her mouth close enough to his ear that he could feel her lips brush his skin, whispered, "Come for me, baby."

He'd had no idea he could come on command, but she had him so _wrecked_, and the feel of her sultry breath against his ear and her hot cunt gripping him tight was enough to undo him. His hips jerked and she caught his moan with her mouth as she kissed him. She rocked against him to milk every last drop, and by the time she finally went still he could swear his balls felt rung out and empty.

She lapped at the tiny puddle of sweat that had gathered in the hollow of his throat and then collapsed beside him. He lay still, panting hard, and she ran a hand up his chest.

"Okay, Juicy?"

He managed a nod and rolled his head to look at her. "First," he said between breaths, "know that I'm not complaining. At all. But—what. The hell. Was that?"

"Oh, that?" She tilted her head in a teasing little shrug. "Not much. Just, you know. Me. Fucking your brains out."

"It worked."

"Good," she said. She flicked her tongue against his earlobe. "When you're recovered I think you should reciprocate."

His brow furrowed and his jaw fell open, but she pressed a finger against his lips. "With your mouth," she said with a smirk.

His expression went through a series of changes until it finally settled on…hungry, maybe, if that wasn't too on the nose.

"I think I'm recovered," he said. She laughed as he rolled them over, and soon the sound of her breathless, wordless gasps filled the air.

* * *

Olivia hadn't seen or heard from Juice since she'd left his house that morning, and she was starting to get nervous. If he were incommunicado it meant one of two things: either he was dead, and she doubted that, or he'd been picked up again. Lincoln Potter would be putting the thumbscrews to him to get him to accept the deal, and Olivia was running out of time to put her plan in motion.

To that end she found herself in the clubhouse searching for Jax. He wasn't there, and she wondered what she'd been expecting. Of course he'd be at the hospital with Tara. She found Chibs instead, stumbled upon him with a mess of paperwork in the office. When he saw her he pulled his reading glasses off and fixed her with a tired smile.

"Ollie, lass. Hadn't seen you in a day or two."

"It's been a little hectic."

"Aye," he said. He hesitated. "You talk to Juicy?"

Her mouth formed a grim line. "Yeah, Chibs. I talked to Juice. That's part of why I'm here."

"Oh?" he said. He tossed his glasses onto the desk and leaned back in the chair. "Somethin' on your mind, lass?"

"Call Jax. Ask him to meet us here. We need to talk."

"Ollie—"

"Chibs. Please. Just call him. It's important."

"Aye, all right." A pause. "Sons don't suicide, Ollie."

"Yeah," she said with a grimace. "That's the word. I'll be in the garage. Come find me when he gets here."

Chibs watched her go with a deep frown. What was that all about? Maybe she had some idea why Juice had tried to hang himself. Something more than Juice had said to him, anyway. It seemed strange, on reflection, that she'd be so adamant about talking to Jax. She normally steered clear of him, and if she had any club business she brought it to Chibs or Ope.

Now Chibs flipped his phone open and dialed Jax' number. "Aye, Jackie boy," he said when he answered. "Need you back here. I think we've got a wee bit of a problem."

* * *

Half an hour later Jax and Chibs appeared in the shop. They both looked weary, but Jax had the worst of it: there were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was haggard. He looked older than she'd ever seen, and for a moment she hated that she was dumping all of this on him _now_. But she had no choice, and Jackson Teller wasn't the man she was looking to protect.

"What's up, Ollie?" he said, not bothering with niceties.

She smiled a little and tilted her head toward the office. Followed them in and shut the door. Closed the blinds while they watched with surprised faces.

"How's Tara?" she said.

He hitched a shoulder. "Same, mostly. Pissed and in pain."

"If that doesn't describe the human condition then I don't know what does," she said.

His mouth twisted in appreciation. He dug out his cigarettes and offered the pack to Chibs, who accepted, and Olivia, who declined with a shake of her head. He fished for his lighter, and once they were both smoking comfortably, Olivia slumped back against the wall and eyed them.

"You guys seen Juice today?" she said.

They shared a look. "Nah, not today. Why?"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm going to lay some things out for you that neither of you are going to like very much. All I ask is that you hear me out before you do anything. Don't run off half-cocked until you've heard everything I have to say. Okay?"

"Can't make any promises, lass, but we'll do our best."

She supposed that would have to do. "There's a US Attorney in Charming building one hell of a RICO case against the club. Not just SAMCRO—the entire Sons of Anarchy MC. He has most of what he needs. The only thing left is someone on the inside."

"Wait," Jax said. "What the fuck are you saying? Juice's been a little squirrelly lately, but he's no _rat_."

Her jaw tightened. "Shit went down. Roosevelt had some leverage and he threatened to use it if Juice didn't cooperate."

There was a stunned silence. "Juice is a fucking _mole_?" Jax said.

"No. It hasn't gone that far."

"Then just how—" He stopped and surged toward her. "_Juice_ stole that coke?! He killed a _brother_! What the _fuck_, Olivia?"

"That's part of it."

"Holy fuck, lass," Chibs said. "Do you realize what you're telling us?"

"I do, and that's why I asked you to hear me out."

"I think I'm done listening," Jax said. He towered over her, using every inch of his nearly one foot height advantage. The muscles in her jaw danced as she clenched her teeth, but she didn't flinch. He saw the quick flash of fear—there and gone in an instant—that crossed her face. It made him feel like an asshole, but he didn't back down either.

"You give me one good reason why I shouldn't go smoke that lying son of a bitch right now," he said in a hard rasp.

She pressed a hand against his chest to ward him off. "He thought he didn't have a choice, Jax. I'm not trying to excuse it, but you have to understand—this club is his life. You're the only family he has, and the only real home he's ever known. To him the idea of exile from the club is the worst possible thing he can think of."

"What the fuck did Roosevelt have?" Chibs said.

"He got information about Juice's father. Turns out he's black."

Jax went still above her, and he and Chibs shared an incredulous glance. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"He wasn't thinking straight, Jax. He thought if Roosevelt told you he'd be out."

His eyes slid away from hers. "Maybe it's time we reworked some of those old bylaws," he conceded.

"Aye," Chibs said, grimly. He tossed his cigarette away and ground it out. "Why are you comin' to us with this, lass? Juice send you to plead his case?"

Her glare flicked from him to Jax and back again. "Of course he didn't. He has no idea we're having this conversation. He has no idea I'm about to make the offer I'm about to make."

"What offer's that?" Jax said. He didn't sound like he cared very much, but she could tell he was listening despite his fury.

"None of us can get in touch with Juice. Dollars to donuts Roosevelt picked him up sometime today, and he and that US Attorney are trying to get him to flip as we speak."

"He hasn't made the deal?" Chibs said.

"No. He did the thing with the coke—which was fucking stupid, we can all agree on that—so now they have him by the balls. He signs and gives up the Irish and the cartel, and they put a halt on RICO. The Sons live to ride another day."

"Huh. You think he'll flip?" Jax said.

Chibs gave a grimace of distaste. "He did the first time."

"No," she said. "But Otto might."

"Otto? What the fuck do you know about Otto?"

"Last time Juice was in custody, Potter—that's the US Attorney—hinted that he had something that would convince Otto to talk."

Jax fell back with a hard sigh and rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Luann," he said to Chibs.

"Luann?" Olivia said. "Lyla's boss? The one who was murdered?"

"Otto's old lady," Chibs said. "It's probably the one weak spot they could use to get to him."

"Basically Potter told Juice that if he gets Otto first he won't need Juice at all, and he'll tell the club what Juice did with the coke. But, c'mon. A guy like this wants both of them, so even if Otto did roll, he won't stop going after Juice."

Jax grunted. "So, what, Ollie? You think if Juice doesn't talk _this_ fucking time we'll just let what he did to Miles slide?"

"Of course not. Just listen." She paused a moment to make sure she had their attention. "I can give Potter something so good, so much bigger than what he has now, that one pissant MC won't mean fuck all. I offer him my information in exchange for the MC. He backs off, drops RICO, exempts the club from all future RICO charges, and he gets it. Otherwise, I walk, Juice doesn't talk, and he doesn't have either case."

"What the fuck could you _possibly_ have that would make him take that deal?" Jax said.

Her mouth curved and she leaned against the wall again. "You boys ever heard of Mick Doyle?"

Jax shot Chibs a questioning look and Chibs made a face. "No such person, lass. It's just a name. A fucking myth, like Keyser Soze."

"Hhmm," she said. "In that case, Keyser Soze is to Mick Doyle as Verbal is to my father-in-law."

Jax blinked. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Now it was Chibs' turn to crowd her. "You're tryin' to say that your father-in-law is Mick Doyle? Mick Doyle is real, and you were married to his fuckin' son? You expect us to believe that shit? You expect _Potter_ to believe it?"

"It's true, and I have enough proof to bury him up to his eyeballs." She held out her left arm. "You think this was a sudden decision? You think I hadn't been planning something like this for months? _Years_, even."

She leaned closer and her voice dropped. "When he wasn't using me as a punching bag my loving husband tended to forget I existed. He would say anything in front of me, like I didn't have eyes or ears or a functioning brain. I realized pretty fast I was getting enough on a weekly basis to fill the entire FBI's spank bank for a year. I've got pictures. Audio. Copies of documents. Anything they could possibly want."

"Nothing recent, though," Jax said. "You've been gone six years."

She shrugged a shoulder. "So they'd have to spend a little time building a case. They would anyway since he's such a fucking ghost. Look, I'm saying I can get everyone out of this. I can get RICO off the club's back for good. I can give you some breathing room."

Another long, simmering look between Chibs and Jax. Then, "What do you want from us?" Jax said.

"Give Juice another chance."

That took them aback. "That's it?" he said.

"That's all. Don't take what he did to the table. Give him a chance to earn his way back in."

"He can't be trusted," Jax said.

"That's why I said let him _earn_ it. He'd do anything for this club, Jackson. Let him prove it."

He snorted and pivoted away. He stood with his back to them, his shoulders tense and his fists clenched. "We're already barely gettin' by," he said to Chibs in an undertone. "The club finds out about this and it'll only make things worse."

"So we let him walk?" Chibs said.

He cut a quick look at Olivia and then back to Chibs. "We give him a chance."

Chibs made a low noise of disapproval. "I don't much like this."

She spread her hands. "I don't much like it either."

"They'll have to put you in WITSEC," Jax said. "No way Doyle won't come after you."

"Yup," she said.

"And you'll probably be in protective custody until you testify," Chibs said.

"Uh huh."

"You'll be gone," Jax said. "Out of Charming forever."

"That's the long and short of it."

"Why, lass? What do you get from this?"

She buried her hands in her pockets and dipped her head. "The club's been good to me. I don't like this RICO bullshit and I don't like bullies."

They all knew there was a lot more to it than that—after all, the only thing she'd asked for was Juice's safety—but no one commented on it. Some things were better left unsaid. Chibs sighed and glanced toward Jax. Gave a quick, tight shrug. Jax scowled and looked away.

"So what's your plan?" he said at last.

"I go to Roosevelt and tell him I have info about the club I'll only give to Potter. Once we're face to face, I start dropping names."

"What if he doesn't bite?"

She made a face. "He'll fucking well bite. I'll give him just enough to get him in a real lather and I'll tell him he can have the rest when a deal's on the table: immunity from RICO for the club and protection for me."

"No immunity for you? For Doyle's son?"

"If he wants me to do time for that shit, fine. But he won't. He'll know he has to keep me close if he wants me, you know—alive enough to testify."

"What if he still wants the Irish and the cartel? That's his case," Jax said.

She paused. Frowned. "If he's that greedy, then you can take it to the club. You can outline everything I just told you—minus _anything_ to do with Juice—and we let everyone decide together."

"Would probably be better comin' from you directly, lass," Chibs said.

"I didn't know women were allowed in church."

"They aren't," Jax said, "but I think these are special circumstances."

His head fell back and he hauled in a deep breath. "Fuck. Goddamn fuck. This is some shit, Olivia."

"You're tellin' me."

He and Chibs shared a long wordless conversation. Jax grimaced. Chibs' brows flicked upward in a shrug. Jax shook his head. Chibs hitched a shoulder. Finally Jax' chin dropped toward the floor and he scrubbed his face with both hands.

"Yeah, Ollie, okay. You take what you got to Roosevelt and see what this Potter asshole says. If you can get the immunity you're promising, we'll back off on Juice."

"Your word?" she said.

"My word."

"Okay," she said after a moment. "I'll go down there now. The longer they have to sweat Juice the worse it's gonna go for everybody."

She turned away, but Jax stopped her.

"If you're even thinkin' about fucking us, Olivia—"

She cast a contemptuous look over her shoulder. "Fuck you, Teller. I keep my promises. Can you say the same?"

Tension simmered between them as their eyes met. Jax looked like he was ready to punch her, but she didn't back down.

"Just so we're all on the same page: anything happens to Juice, anything at all, and our deal's off. I'm not fucking around, and I have no intention of letting down my end."

"And what if something were to happen to you, Ollie girl?" Chibs said.

She didn't tear her gaze away from Jax, but there was a minute tightening around her mouth and eyes. "I'm the piece they need to make everything fall into place. Without me, there's no case against Mick Doyle, and no immunity for SoA."

Chibs snorted out a laugh. "You got balls o' fuckin' steel, lass, I gotta give you that."

Now she cut a look his way, and her mouth curved. "No, Chibs, I don't. Balls're soft. They pop if you squeeze them hard enough. What I've got is a pussy…and, sugar?" She tilted her head and her grin deepened. "A pussy can really take a pounding."

* * *

_Yes I just paraphrased Betty White. She's an American treasure._

_Obviously this marks one of the biggest departures from the show that I've made thus far, and I hope y'all are in this with me because things're gonna be heavy for a bit._


	17. Around the Snakes

Like I said, the next couple of chapters are gonna be kinda heavy. But what would SoA be without the drama, right?

Reviews, kittens? :D

* * *

**they say love finds its own way home  
****around the snakes inside your heart, underneath all the bones  
****and though the world may fold you in its pocket you'll never bend  
****you're not the type, my only love, my only real friend  
**-Bob Schneider, "C'mon Baby"

"You know I could ship you back for this murder, right?" Roosevelt said to her.

"All they have are prints. I could've left those any time."

"Hhmm," he said.

Something about his tone made her cut her eyes his way, and he offered a bleak, humorless smile.

"Your building key code was used twenty minutes before estimated time of death, and security cameras have you entering and exiting the building during the kill window."

Her mouth quirked and she leaned back in her chair. "Well. That's awkward."

"To say the least."

She had walked in carrying a folder and a large manila envelope. He'd wondered about them, but since he doubted she had a weapon stashed inside either one he'd let her be. Now she slid the envelope across the table. "Take a look at those and then tell me you wanna make trouble for me over this bullshit."

He frowned at her, but after a moment he unwound the string that held the flap closed and spilled the envelope's contents onto the table. "What are these?"

She made a face and didn't bother with an answer. Still frowning, he grabbed one of the X-rays and held it up to the light. He stared. Even with his limited knowledge he could recognize a broken collarbone. Multiple healed fractures on both arms. A broken rib. He could imagine all too well what she had looked like on the outside, and it was a nasty picture.

He let out a huff and picked up the other one. Three broken fingers, one of them cracked in two places.

"I was lucky," she said. She held up the hand and wiggled her fingers. "I hardly lost any dexterity. They just ache a little sometimes…but then I ache at least a little bit every day."

He had been a cop long enough to understand what these injuries were. He dropped the film and pinned her with a long, probing look. His jaw was tight and his expression thunderous. "How long?"

"Six years."

He flipped through the case folder from Atlanta. "There's no record—"

"Of course there isn't. I never filed a complaint or bothered going to the cops. His father has ninety percent of the Atlanta PD on his pay role, from the commissioner down to some lowly rook walking his beat."

"Mrs. Flanary—"

"No!" she said, a sharp rebuke. "My name is Olivia Gable. Call me _Olivia_ or _Ms. Gable_, but I'm not _Mrs. Flanary_ and I refuse to even hear that fucking name."

He sat back and assessed her, his hands flat on the table and his muscles coiled tight. She said she was willing to pass along information about SAMCRO, but he doubted that was her real purpose for coming here. A woman who, rather than take the clear escape route she'd lined up, had come back to put three bullets into her abusive shit stain of a husband didn't strike him as the type of woman who would rat on the people who took her in.

She tapped her fingers on the table. "You still want to ship me back, or would you like to go find US Attorney Potter so we can have a chat?"

"Why him? You can't tell me what you have to say?"

"I'm not trying to exclude you from anything, Sheriff. Just—this isn't really a story I want to have to tell twice. See?"

"Yeah," he said in a low voice. He shoved the X-rays back in the envelope. "I'll go get him."

Olivia cooled her heels in the interrogation room for nearly an hour before a tall bearded man in a leather jacket sailed in. He regarded her for a brief moment before he dismissed her with a flick of his eyes. Roosevelt trailed after him, and from the looks of things he wasn't happy.

"Mrs. Flanary—"

"It's _Gable_," Roosevelt said before she could.

He flashed the sheriff a condescending smile and lowered himself into the chair opposite Olivia. "Ms. Gable. Better?"

"Much," she said with a smile that didn't touch her eyes.

"Very good. Ms. Gable, I'm Lincoln Potter, US Attorney for San Joaquin County. Sheriff Roosevelt tells me you have some information on the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club that might interest me."

He looked nothing like her idea of a US Attorney. More like some sort of hippie biker type, long-haired and leather clad. Juice had been right about one thing, though: this guy was stone cold. His tone indicated he was anything but interested, but she was sure she could change his mind without much trouble.

"I know a bit about the club," she said. "Probably not enough to help you, though."

"Then why are you wasting my time?"

She flipped open the folder she'd brought and pushed a piece of paper and a photograph across the table. Roosevelt craned his neck to get a look while Potter stared down at it, nonplussed. The sheet was a wanted poster with a sketch of a man, fortyish and balding. He had a full, fleshy mouth, sharp cheek bones, and deep-set eyes. The sketch was labeled, in huge red letters, "NAME UNKNOWN. KNOWN ALIAS(es): MICK DOYLE, MICKEY DOYLE, MIKE DOYLE."

Potter frowned and set it aside to study the photograph. There was a woman—Olivia Gable, younger and far more frightened—with her arm around the waist of a tall man about the same age she was in the photo. Next to them, turning away but still caught in three-quarter profile, was another man. Roosevelt's eyes flicked between the wanted poster and the photo.

It was the same guy, no doubt. The same mouth. The same gaunt face. The younger one—Olivia's husband?—had a similar look, and it was obvious they were father and son.

"What is this?" Potter said. He had clearly realized the same thing Roosevelt had, and for the first time since he'd walked in he sounded intrigued. Intrigued and maybe a little flustered.

She smirked and leaned back in her chair. "That, Mr. Potter, is my opening gambit. Where we go from here is almost entirely up to you."

* * *

It was the middle of the night by the time she got back to the compound. She parked in her usual spot and sat for a moment. What the fuck was she doing? Was she really going to go through with this? Give Teddy Flanary up to the Feds in exchange for WITSEC and fucking SAMCRO?

_No_, she thought. "Not for SAMCRO," she said aloud as she met her own eyes in the rearview mirror. She was only doing this for one person, and if it weren't for him she would've been long gone by now. As it was she had ties in this town she'd never wanted. Not just to him, but to the people he cared about—people she had come to care about, too. Chibs and Opie and Lyla. Gemma with her tough love and her take-no-prisoners attitude. Tara. Tig, the dumb shit perv, and his idiot buddy Kozik. All of them, really. Even Clay, as much an asshole as he could be so much of the time.

She sighed and scrubbed her face. It was worth it if it gave Juice a shot. No matter how things fell out at least part of the club would go down without her involvement. On top of that, Juice would be a dead man.

She hadn't spent the last two years falling in love with the little shit just to have him check out now.

The thought stopped her, and the eyes in the mirror went wide. Well of course that was it. Everyone else knew—at least everyone who mattered. Why was she the last one to clue in?

"Fuck it," she muttered. She climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind her. She had already called Jax and asked him to meet her at the clubhouse, and she took note of his bike in its spot.

He was in the office, and at the sight of her he sat up from his slump.

"Well?" he said.

She lifted her hands. "He's a greedy son of a bitch."

"Fuck." His head fell back. "Fuck!" He kicked the desk and she jumped. He cast her an apologetic glance. "Sorry. I was just hoping to keep this away from the table."

"You and me both, kid." She walked to the desk and propped against it. "What do we tell them?"

"The truth," he said.

Her face clouded. "Not about Juice."

"No, Ollie. We already agreed about that. I'm not crazy about it, but it's probably better they don't know that part." A pause. "You really sure about this? You go through with it and it's done. You can't come back."

"I'm not exactly thrilled by it, but—better than the alternative, I guess." Her tone was grim, her eyes troubled, and she suddenly seemed engrossed by the sight of her scuffed black boots.

"Chibs and I are the only ones who know about Miles and the coke. As long as Juice didn't take the RICO deal—"

"If Juice doesn't take that deal and I don't give Potter what he wants, I'm sure Clay will be getting a visit from our friendly US Attorney soon after. And there's still Otto to think of."

"I honestly can't see Otto turnin' rat. He's First Nine."

"Nobody First Nine has ever betrayed the club before, huh?" she said with an ironic lift to her brow.

"Fuck," he muttered.

"Yeah," she said. "Our options are severely limited. I give him Doyle and it's done."

He rubbed his face and looked away. "You know, I can't imagine anybody ever doing somethin' like this for me."

She studied him. "Tara loves you very much, Jax."

"She's also fucking pissed at me right now. About everything."

"She's pissed at the _world_ about everything. Can you blame her?"

"Nah," he said. "Of course I can't." He paused and shook his head. "I really wanted her to get out. Take the boys and go to Portland. It would've been good for all three of them."

"Not so much for you, maybe," she said.

He hitched a shoulder. "They're what matters. Only them. The rest of this bullshit is just details."

"Exactly, Jackson," she said, her voice soft. "Nail on the head."

* * *

Jax called the club in for church first thing the next morning. Juice was still in jail, held by Potter as guarantee that Olivia wouldn't skip town during her furlough, but Jax made excuses for him. As everyone got settled the doors opened and Olivia slipped in.

"We're busy here, Olivia," Clay barked. "You want something it can wait till after. No bitches in the chapel."

She opened her mouth, no doubt to say something scathing, but Jax jumped in first.

"Some respect, Clay. Relax. She's got somethin' to tell us, and I thought it would be better comin' from her."

"Go ahead, lass," Chibs said before Clay could offer his opinion.

Olivia tugged the door shut behind her. They waited around the table with expectant, confused faces, and Clay scowled at her and stroked the gavel with tense fingers. She tossed her braid over one shoulder and dove in.

"I've got good information that a US Attorney is building one hell of a RICO case against the Sons. Not just SAMCRO—every Son. Every charter. He wants the cartel, the Irish, and he wants to end this MC as you know it."

They exploded. Voices rose and fists pounded the table and feet stomped. She weathered it with a still, stoic expression, and it was over a minute before Clay was able to restore order.

He pinned her with a ferocious glare. "And just where did you come by this intel, sweetheart?"

She ignored his vicious, patronizing tone and continued as though the interruption hadn't happened. "What's more, they've got Otto ready to roll on the club. Bobby, specifically, but I don't really know the details there. They'll use that as their in, and they'll take you apart piece by piece."

"Otto's no rat," Clay said.

Jax cleared his throat. "I'm not so sure about that."

"I don't know exactly what sort of leverage they have," Olivia said, "but I know it's about Luann. This guy's been up to see him three or four times now, and he's workin' him hard."

"Even if he does flip, how the fuck do they think they're going to get the Irish and the cartel?" Tig said. "Otto don't know shit about that."

She wanted to leave Juice out of it completely, and Jax and Chibs had agreed—reluctantly and with no small amount of fury—to her conditions. She tucked her hands in her pockets. "Otto doesn't. But I do."

"What they got on _you_, Ollie?" Happy said.

Her mouth twisted and she hitched a shoulder. "An old murder. Some other shit. Enough."

"Unser said you weren't a suspect in that killing," Clay said into the quiet that followed.

"Hum. That was then. Things have changed."

She watched him through cool, guileless green eyes as he tried to undo her with his scowl alone. It was heavy and hot like molten lead, but she knew she held all the cards now. The rest of the club was on tenterhooks waiting to hear what she had to say, and beneath his bluster, she could tell Clay saw it, too.

"Okay, okay," Kozik said. "They got you for some—some murder somewhere. What did they offer?" He stumbled over the words because he almost couldn't imagine it. Yeah, she talked a good game, but actually _killing_ somebody? _Ollie_?

"I give them what they want to know about your next meet with Real IRA and they forget about the murder charges."

"They offerin' WITSEC?" Opie said, quietly. He'd been silent up to this point, and for a moment she couldn't bear to meet his eyes.

"Look, it doesn't matter what they're offering. They ship me back to Georgia I'm dead. I might not even make it there."

"What're you sayin'?" Tig said.

She drew in a long breath. "There's another option. I don't think I can get out of giving them info on the meet"—grumbles all around, but Clay banged the gavel and they went quiet—"but I can protect the club. He gets Real IRA and a shot at the cartel, which completes his case and makes him happy, and I give him something bigger than he ever expected."

Hard, angry looks passed between the men, but finally Bobby leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "We're listening," he said.

She told them everything she'd told Jax and Chibs (minus anything about Juice, of course), and by the time she was finished you could've heard a pin drop.

"Jesus Christ, Ollie," Tig said, dragging a hand down his face.

"How did Juice not make this connection? I had him dig into Teddy Flanary—"

"You really think there's any paper trail anywhere that connects the name Teddy Flanary with the name Mick Doyle? Come on. This guy is the most careful person I've seen in my life. It was his arrogant asshat of a son who fucked up."

"Your father-in-law is Mick _fucking_ Doyle? And he hasn't tracked you down?" Tig said. Clearly the name meant something to him even if a few of the other guys in the room looked clueless.

"It's been a long six years," she said with a tired, humorless smile.

"A rat's a rat," Happy said. "You think the Irish and the Mexicans won't figure we sold them out when their boys are locked up and we're not?"

"Fine," she said. "Say I don't give them the meet. I just dangle Doyle like the sweetest fucking carrot they've ever seen."

"What happens to you?" Jax said.

"If he decides not to take it, I'm fucked." He'd pretty much already decided to take it and she was fairly sure she could convince him to ahead without the cartel and the Irish, but they didn't have to know that. "If Otto flips, the club's fucked. Regardless, there's gonna be a lot of fuckin' goin' on, and I don't think this guy bothers with lube."

She lifted a hand. "Guys, look. You're telling me y'all can't think of a way for me to give this asshole what he wants without ratting anyone out? Please. I know about that shit with Stahl. That was Machiavellian. Fucking masterful.

"If I go down for this murder we're not talking jail time. I won't make it that far. Hell, fuck knows for sure Doyle'd even kill me. He's creative and he's pissed. Not only did I kill his only son, but also he's been chasin' me for six years. That's a long time to stew."

"Okay," Jax said. "I think we can all agree we don't want this guy to get his hands on Olivia. None of us are gonna rat—hopefully not Otto, either—but this asshole US Attorney ain't gonna give up."

"We can't pull off somethin' like we did with Stahl," Happy said. "Nobody on the inside."

"We don't have to," Clay said. He spread his hands. "We take it to the cartel and the Irish and let them deal with it."

"Are you serious?" Olivia said. "They'll kill him. He'll end up with his head on a pole somewhere."

"Not our problem, sweetheart," he said.

"I'm sure we'll all be cryin' fuckin' crocodile tears for the US Attorney who wants to take down our whole goddamn MC," Happy said.

Chibs stirred. "Maybe we should leave the Irish out of it for now. They're already nervous about the cartel; we tell 'em this and they might pull out completely."

"Let the Mexicans clean up the mess," Tig said.

"We take this shit to Romeo and get our cue from him," Jax said. "If this guy's as close to makin' his case as he made Ollie think he is, Romeo'll want him out of way."

"So what do I do in the meantime? He's letting me 'weigh his offer,' but Roosevelt'll be knocking on my door any minute now," Olivia said.

"Stall him," Clay said.

"How?" she demanded, eyes wide.

"C'mon, Ollie," Jax said with a smirk. "You sayin' you can't think of a way to stall one US Attorney with a hard on? You've stayed off Mick Doyle's radar for six years. This should be a fuckin' cakewalk."

She swallowed and crossed her arms under her breasts. "Yeah. I can feed him something. Keep him distracted until you get word from Romeo."

"We need to vote on this shit?" Clay said. There was silence all around, so he banged the gavel. "Good. You," he said to Olivia, "get the fuck out." He jerked his thumb at the door.

"Always a pleasure, Clay. Gentlemen."

The doors closed behind her and nobody spoke for a long time.

"She didn't have to bring this to us," Chibs finally said.

"Probably safer for her if she'd just taken the fuckin' deal. Ratted," Opie said. "She coulda gotten WITSEC and been clear of all this shit."

"Who'd she kill?" Happy said.

"Her husband," Jax said. "Mick Doyle's son, doing business as TJ Flanary. Shot him three times: head, chest, dick."

"Holy shit."

"Why'd she do it?" Opie said. He'd never asked her much about her life before Charming, and she'd never volunteered the information. He wasn't particularly surprised to find out she'd killed someone; unlike Kozik, he recognized the look of it on her.

Jax and Chibs exchanged a look. Jax tilted his head in a shrug and Chibs grimaced.

Finally Jax said, "He beat her. A lot, from the sound of things. Don't really know details, but…he had it comin'."

"Fuck," Tig said. "That explains some shit."

"I've said all along that girl might be more trouble than she's worth," Clay said. "Now she could bring Mick Doyle's entire fucking crew down on us."

"Who even _is_ Mick Doyle's crew?" Kozik said.

"Nobody knows for sure," Chibs said. "Man's a ghost." He leaned forward and tapped his finger against the table as he spoke. "She's right about one thing: if she really can get Mick Doyle, if she has real shit on him, the entire fucking FBI will collectively jizz its khakis."

"Shit," Jax said. He scrubbed a hand down his face. "For now let's just see how it plays out. She brought this to us in good faith. We at least owe her a chance."

"I agree," Bobby said. "If Otto _does_ roll—"

"Not a chance," Clay said.

"But if he _does_, we'll need insurance. What she's got trumps anything we could do to get outta this shit."

Clay breathed out a heavy sigh. "I don't like it," he said.

But Clay's wants and preferences didn't carry a lot of weight with the club at the moment, and ultimately he was outvoted. Olivia would be allowed to play her hand her way, and they would stay out of it as far as they were able.

* * *

_I find that I really enjoy writing Lincoln Potter? Which is weird. Obviously there's not much of him in this chapter, but we'll see him again later on._


	18. And Lost

This chapter is pretty long. And kinda sad. And Clay gets shot so there's some violent bits in the middle.

* * *

**they say it's better to have loved and lost  
than never to have loved at all  
but if you sit down and count the cost of all those losses  
there's no profit at all  
**Del Amitri, "You're Gone"

It had been one fucking day and everything had exploded. She winced at her mental word choice: terrible timing, fucking awful pun. When Chibs had told her what happened to Kozik she couldn't believe it. It was ridiculous and awful and random. Almost absurd, in the truest since of the word.

_A fucking land mine?_ she'd said. _This is California, not Afghanistan! What the actual and ever-loving _fuck_?_

The screwdriver she'd thrown was still embedded in the wall, and she had no intention of pulling it out. Let it stand, she thought, as a monument for Kozik after she was gone.

Chibs hadn't had answers for her. They all knew the cartel was too hot. They had to get out before anyone else died, and they were hoping it would happen soon. Jax said he had a plan. Olivia was skeptical, as she often was of Jax' plans, but it wasn't her business—especially not now.

She was tense and edgy as she waited for them to tell her Romeo's decision. Potter kept calling, and every time she held him off. She told him Juice had been her main source of information, and while he was locked up she had to be more subtle. She couldn't just ask straight out about such hush-hush club business; it would arouse suspicion.

That seemed to satisfy him—mostly—but he warned her if they missed their chance because of her "subtlety," it would be Juice who paid for it. She hung up on him.

On top of all that she'd seen Gemma's face. She wouldn't tell her who had beaten her, but Olivia knew. Later that evening she'd overheard a conversation between Clay and Wayne that only confirmed it: Clay had pummeled his wife all to hell and back because she'd found out he was the one who hired those guys to kidnap Tara. That last bit of news was like a blow, and she still reeled from it twenty-four hours later.

She had hung around the shop much later than normal in the hopes that she'd hear something about Romeo. She was exhausted and just wanted to go home. She needed a cup of tea and a long bath, probably the last of either she'd enjoy in the home she'd worked so hard to create. The idea gave her a pang, hot and deep, but it was an easier thing to deal with than what happened when she thought about Juice.

The worst part was she wouldn't even have the chance to explain things to him. Potter refused to release him until he had the information about the meet, and the minute she gave him that she'd be the one taken into custody. They would miss each other, like those metaphorical two ships.

She muttered a curse under her breath and grabbed her bag. If they wanted her they could call her at home. If they needed her to come back she would.

She was almost to her car when a bike roared into the lot. She recognized Opie; no one else was quite that big, except maybe Piney, and he rode the trike; and she called out to him as he dismounted. He ignored her and barreled toward the clubhouse. Her brow furrowed. What was that about?

She dismissed it with a shake of her head and fished her keys out. She stuck them in the door and stood there with her hand poised to twist the lock open. Opie had looked wild, even from a distance. He'd been unstable lately. Had trashed Lyla's dressing room over the birth control pills and then moved into the clubhouse. He'd fucked that girl, Ima, for no other reason than to drive Lyla away.

"Mother fuck," she said. Part of her, she thought, looked forward to the peace and quiet of federal protective custody.

She tossed the keys back in her bag and went after him. The clubhouse door hung open and she could hear raised voices from the chapel. She was two steps away when the shots rang out. She froze, shocked, and Jax rocketed past her. She followed him, and the sight that met her eyes when he shoved through the doors stopped her heart.

Opie had a gun on Clay, and the older man was bleeding heavily. Opie looked crazed. He was screaming something about Piney, about how Clay had killed his father (_Piney's dead too?_ she thought, inanely.) and he had to pay the price. Jax begged him to put down the gun, but Opie lunged toward Clay with a roar. Jax shot him in the hand and he collapsed.

That seemed to release her from the paralysis she'd been under. She rushed toward Jax and Opie, but he waved her away. "Ope's fine. Check on Clay."

She spun around. He slumped against the wall with a dazed, agonized expression. His hand was pressed against his chest, and blood poured over his fingers. She cast around for something to staunch the flow, and in desperation ripped off her work smock.

"Move," she said. "Move your fucking hand." She shoved it away and pressed the shirt hard against him. "Jackson, call 911! It's bad."

Just then Wayne and Rat burst in. They stared at the carnage in shock, and Wayne started yelling about Roosevelt and the trouble he would cause.

Olivia ignored him. "We've gotta get him flat. He's having trouble breathing."

"Not here," Clay rasped. "The garage. It happened in the garage." They had to keep the cops out of the clubhouse.

She started to prop him up with her shoulder, but Jax pushed her out of the way and motioned Rat over. "Follow us," he said. "Grab what you need on the way." His eyes were intense on hers, two burning cobalt lights. "Hurry, Ollie. We're not gonna let him die."

She jerked her head in a nod and ran for the kitchen. She needed plastic wrap. Tape, maybe, but the blood might be enough to—she shook her head to clear it and found what she needed. A quick stop by the bathroom for rubbing alcohol and the office for the first aid kit and she was in the garage.

Rat and Jax had gotten there seconds ahead of her, and they were lowering Clay to the ground. "Lay him out," she said. "Flat on the floor. Hold his feet up, though; we don't want him going into shock."

"Not sure that's an option," Jax said.

She acknowledged that with a brief quirk of her brows as she knelt next to him. "Clay," she said, "can you hear me? Clay, I need you to stay awake. Keep your eyes on me."

She glanced up at Rat. "Talk to him. Keep him conscious. Jax, where the fuck's that ambulance?"

"On its way."

"And Opie? Where is he?"

"Still in the clubhouse, I guess. I need to take him to the hospital."

She looked up at him. Understanding flashed between them. "Go," she said. "Take care of him. We've got this." Her smile was more like a grimace. "Right, Rat? We can handle it."

He gave a short, staccato nod and tried to smile back. Jax squeezed her shoulder and bolted away to collect his best friend.

Olivia didn't bother with gloves; she already had Clay's blood all over her hands. She moved the sopping shirt and lowered her ear toward his chest. Sucking chest wound. The bullets had punctured a lung.

She jerked her chin toward the plastic wrap she'd dropped next to them. "Rat, tear me off a piece of that. Big enough to cover his chest."

He gave her a funny look but didn't take the time to ask questions, for which she was grateful. She used the scissors in the first aid kit to cut Clay's shirt open. "Fuck," she whispered. "Fuck fuck fuckity fuck."

"Your bedside manner," he croaked between gasps, "could use some work."

Rat elbowed her and held out the plastic. "Hold onto it," she said. She opened the bottle of alcohol and poured it over the side that would be against Clay's skin.

"You gonna wrap me up like leftovers?"

"Shut up, Clay. Save your breath." She spread the plastic over his chest and pressed down the edges. The wounds immediately sucked the plastic in to create a seal. Clay's breath eased and his head fell back.

"Watch him," she said to Rat. "If his breathing gets weird again, lift one of the edges. We've gotta keep the air _in_ while letting the air _out_, and sometimes the plastic seals too well."

"Yeah, Ollie," he said. "Okay."

"I'll be right back." She jumped up and ran for the door, but Wayne burst through it before she could get there.

"I still don't hear the sirens," he said. "No clue what's taking so long. How's Clay?"

"Great. Just dandy. Take Rat and go meet the paramedics. Tell them he has a sucking chest wound that I've sealed with plastic wrap."

"Ollie!" It was Rat, and he sounded scared. "Ollie, his lips are turning blue."

"Goddammit," she said. She spun away and dug through one of the drawers in a nearby tool chest.

Wayne gaped at her. "What the hell are you doing?"

She found what she was looking for—a short length of metal, like a steel straw—and dropped down next to Clay again. "Disinfect this," she said and shoved the tube at Rat. "Be thorough. Wayne, come here."

He knelt across from her and shook his head. "I'm not sure what you're planning, but I don't think it's a great idea. We should wait—"

"He can't breathe because his lung is collapsed. The air is building up in his chest cavity and pressing on the other one. We need to reinflate it or he might suffocate before the paramedics get here. We can wait, if you want. He's already smurfing."

They stared at each other. She could tell Wayne was tempted, and frankly she was, too, but she couldn't do it. She grabbed the tube from Rat and leaned down. "Clay, listen to me. This is really going to fucking hurt, okay?"

She paused and cut her eyes toward Wayne. He hung on every word. "I'm saving your life right now, Clay. Do you understand that? I stop what I'm doing and you'll probably die before the professionals get here. I want to make this very clear: when someone saves your life, it means you _owe_ them. You will be indebted to me, Clay."

His eyes rolled in his head but he didn't have enough breath to speak.

"You can repay me in one way: never raise a hand to Gemma again. Stay the fuck away from Tara. I'm leaving soon; we both know that. You're a liar and a coward who beats his wife and hires hit men to murder the mother of his grandchildren. I don't expect you to have any honor. But remember this moment, Clay. Remember it, and the next time you think about hurting one of the women in your life, ask yourself if that's the man you really want to be. Ask yourself if _that_ man deserves the second chance I'm about to give you."

"Ollie," Rat said. He couldn't hear her, and he was alarmed by Clay's color. "Ollie, what are you doing? He can't breathe."

She straightened and pulled her knife out of her pocket. "Anybody have a smaller blade than this?"

Unser held out his Swiss Army knife. "Got a corkscrew, too. Just in case."

Her mouth twisted in sardonic amusement. She unfolded one of the blades and dumped alcohol over it. Slowly peeled back the plastic and pressed her fingers against Clay's chest. She felt for his ribs and measured the space between them with her index and middle fingers pressed together. She'd never seen this done, not for real. She'd read about it. In her old life she'd been prepared for nearly anything, injury-wise.

"Rat, Wayne, hold him. This's gonna hurt like a motherfucker."

The two men grabbed his shoulders and pressed him to the concrete. "Okay. On three. One, two—" She thrust the knife into him, deep but not too deep. He roared and bucked, and Rat and Wayne threw their weight into it. "Be still!" she cried. "Try, Clay. Try so I don't fucking kill you!"

She jabbed the tube into the hole she'd created and twisted it in deeper. Clay's head was thrown back and he clenched his teeth so tight she thought they might crack. Finally she got the bit of metal where she needed it to go, and the air _whooshed_ out as the pressure was relieved. She secured it with tape and watched as Clay slowly relaxed. The blue began to fade and his skin took on a slightly more normal tone—if pale, sickly green could be considered "normal."

She sat back with a long sigh. "Holy shit," she said.

"Seconded," Wayne said.

Clay had passed out from the pain. She tore off a new sheet of plastic and Rat helped her disinfect it before she pressed it to his chest.

"We still need to seal these or the tube won't do much good," she said. "More air'll just pump in as fast as the tube can release it." She wasn't sure who she was talking to; neither Wayne nor Rat had asked her about it. Maybe she just wanted to hear the sound of her own voice.

"Sirens," Rat said and lifted his head.

"Thank God," Wayne said. "It's about time."

She pointed Rat toward the door and repeated everything she'd said to Wayne earlier, plus the new information about the crude chest tube. He seemed relieved to be given a task, and he fled the garage without a backwards glance.

Silence fell. The only sound was Clay's raspy, labored breathing and the wail of approaching sirens. She checked the tube to make sure it hadn't slipped. Wayne watched her through shrewd eyes.

"Someone tip you off about Tara?" he said.

"Not exactly," she said without looking up. "I overheard the two of you talking yesterday. I heard what you said."

"Everything I said?"

She raised her head and met his gaze. "Everything."

"Then you know I'll be watching out for both of them."

"I know."

"We're gonna miss you, Ollie," he said, apropos of nothing.

"Hum. I'm sure I'll miss all of this." She lifted her bloody hands. Flexed her fingers to feel the stretch and snap as it dried sticky. "The glamorous life of an MC mechanic-cum-medic."

"No one ever said it'd be easy, sweetheart."

"No, Wayne, they sure as fuck didn't. You're right about that." She shook her head and let out a small, rueful laugh. "But I will miss it, all the same. I must be nuts."

"No more so than the rest of us. This life is like an addiction. Sucks you in and won't let go."

"Yeah," she said, shortly. "That's what I hear."

* * *

Olivia looked up from the computer at the sound of the office door, and when she saw his face hers fell. Her time was up. Once she made the call they would take her into custody (for her own protection, natch) and that would be it. Her life in Charming—over. After last night, Clay's shooting and her frantic efforts to keep him alive, there was a part of her that felt relieved.

"Chibs," she said, quietly.

He stood watching her for a moment before he moved to the desk and slid a slip of paper across it. "Romeo said—"

She held up a hand. "Probably better if I don't know."

"Aye," he said, grimly. Then, "Tell me one more time, lass. You sure about this?"

"It's too late now, isn't it?"

"Maybe not. Trade him this for RICO, and tell him you won't testify on the Doyle shite."

"Then he'll go after Juice again. Use him to threaten me," she said with a slow shake of her head. "Clay has a hair trigger lately. What do you think he'd do if Potter told him about Miles and the coke?"

"Clay's barely hangin' on, lass."

"Bobby, then. How would he react? Or what about Happy?"

Chibs let out a heavy sigh and looked away. There were about a dozen things he wanted to say, but probably ninety percent of them would embarrass them both. He cleared the lump in his throat and settled on, "It's been good havin' you here, Ollie girl."

She folded the paper, tucked it into her pocket, and came around the desk. "You've done so much for me, Chibs," she said. She lifted her hands in a helpless shrug. "I've got no way to repay you."

His mouth quirked. "I think savin' the entire club's a start."

"When you say it like that it sounds really fucking pretentious," she said and made a face.

He laughed and she couldn't help but smile at the sound. They stared at each other for a moment and then he gathered her against him. She pressed her forehead to the center of his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. He lowered his head to brush against her hair. They stood like that for a long time, still and silent, as the full impact of what she was doing hit them both.

"Juicy's really worth all this?" he said, his voice thick.

She sniffed and pulled away. "I don't know. Maybe not. All I know is he deserves a shot. He deserves a chance to make up for what he did, and he _doesn't_ deserve to be bullied by that motherfuckin' Lincoln Potter."

He considered her for a long moment, his head tilted and his eyes steady on hers. "Aye, Ollie girl," he said at last. "You'll do as you please anyway, and not a damn one of us can talk you out of it."

"You're learning, my friend."

He pulled her to him again and planted a brusque kiss on the crown of her head, like a sort of blessing. "Go on, then. Make the call. And if I don't see you again—"

She shook her head. "No goodbyes, Chibs. They're bullshit."

"Aye," he said. "Fuck 'em."

Her smile was at odds with her red nose and damp eyes, but he was glad to see it all the same. He patted her shoulder and walked to the door. She didn't turn around, and he took a minute to appreciate the fine red-gold of her hair in its complicated twists and braids. He remembered the first time he'd seen her, stepping out of that car of hers all bluster and strut. He wondered if she realized how important she'd become to everyone here, and how they would miss her. Probably not. It would probably shock the hell out of her if she knew. With a shake of his head he stepped outside and let the door close behind him.

* * *

Juice was puzzled. It wasn't that he was unhappy that Sheriff Roosevelt had let him go, but he had no idea _why_. He also didn't know why the sheriff had given him the information about his dad. He'd said he didn't like to play dirty, and as far as he was concerned he and Juice were square—but Juice seriously doubted Lincoln Potter felt the same.

He hadn't signed the deal. Olivia had asked that he trust her, and so while he couldn't see any possible way she could get either him or the club out of the whole mess, he'd gritted his teeth and bowed his head and let Potter hammer away.

At this point the original leverage was useless. Juice's dad could be Osama Bin Laden and no one in the club would give two fucks once they learned about Miles. Eli had told him not to worry about it, but he couldn't help it. Even if Otto had rolled, that didn't give Potter the True IRA and the cartel, and he wanted them both so bad he was practically drooling.

And so. Juice pulled into the TM lot, but Olivia's car wasn't there. He'd already tried her cell and hadn't gotten an answer. He stood beside his bike and scowled at the empty place where the Cougar usually sat. Maybe she'd gone to visit Tara again and had turned her phone off for some reason. Or maybe she was somewhere like the gun range and couldn't hear it ring.

Neither of those explanations rang quite true to him, though. She knew Potter had been after him hard and he'd spent the last few nights in custody. Surely she'd be wondering where he was. Surely she'd want to make sure she was reachable.

"Juicy boy!"

Juice turned reluctantly away from the empty parking spot and smoothed his expression. "Hey, Chibs. What's up?"

Chibs clapped him hard on the back. "We missed you, brother. Where you been?"

"Ahh…I had to get away for a day or two. Clear my head after—after everything." He stumbled a bit over the lie because Chibs' look seemed especially keen and penetrating.

"Hey, have you seen Olivia? I wanted to, um…" He trailed off and realized he didn't have an excuse for looking for _her_, specifically, but Chibs filled the lull before it became awkward.

"Aye," he said and rubbed his chin. "I think maybe you should step into the office with me, laddie. Jackie and me, we got a few things to say to you."

Juice's stomach dropped and he felt dizzy. He gave a short, jerky nod and fell in line behind him. There was only one thing they would need to say in private. They knew. Either Potter had sold him out or they'd somehow figured it out, but they knew. Had they hurt Olivia? No. He couldn't believe that. Jax might have a hard time trusting her—even now, after all this time—but Chibs loved her like a daughter.

"What's, uh—what's going on?" he managed as they walked.

Chibs shrugged and didn't look back. "You'll find out."

Jax waited for them in the clubhouse office, and Chibs paused to let Juice go in ahead of him. He shut the door. Juice stood between them and tried to smile. Their expressions were blank and stony, and his chin dropped to his chest.

"You voted already?" he said in a dull voice.

"About what, brother?" Jax said, his tone tight and restrained.

_Brother_. The word stung like acid. "You know what. Fucking Mayhem."

"Now why would we need to vote on Mayhem, Juicy?" Chibs said. "You didn't take the RICO deal, did you?"

His head jerked up and he stared back and forth between them. "How did you know—?" His mouth hardened. "Where the fuck is Olivia?"

"We'll get to that," Jax said. "Just explain one thing to us first: how the fuck did you think you could get away with stealing from the club and killing a brother? Did you think we wouldn't find out?"

His mouth fell open. Tears stood out in his eyes and his hands, buried in the pockets of his cut, clenched into fists. "I don't know, Jax. I guess maybe a part of me hoped you would. I know I'm trash. I'm nothing. This club is my life, my family, and I shit all over that."

"You sure as fuck did, laddie," Chibs said.

He came around to stand with Jax, and they both faced Juice with crossed arms and thunderous expressions. They shared a look. Tense seconds ticked by. They pulled their guns and chambered a round. Pointed the weapons at him.

His mind blanked. They were going to kill him _here_, in the clubhouse? And just the two of them? It didn't make any sense, but he supposed these were a different set of circumstances.

He raised his head and squared his jaw. If it was going to happen he might as well face it like a Son—even if he didn't deserve to call himself that anymore.

"Do it," he said. "I deserve it."

"You're goddamn right you do," Jax said.

The gun barrels were huge, dark yawning holes that stared straight into him like probing eyes. He didn't look away, and the moment stretched on and on.

Finally Jax lowered his gun, and with a frustrated breath Chibs did the same.

"You're the luckiest motherfucker alive, Juicy boy."

"I don't understand," he said, nonplussed. _Why_ was he alive? What had just happened?

Jax holstered his weapon and crossed his arms again. "We're gonna give you another chance, Juice. You betrayed our trust, but we're gonna let you earn it back."

"The club voted _no_?"

"We didn't take it to the table," Chibs said. "Only we know what happened, and we're hopin' to keep it that way."

His gaze flicked back and forth between them and his face was contorted with confusion. "What the fuck is going on? How did you know about any of this? Why did Roosevelt just let me go without the deal? _Where is Olivia_?"

Chibs surged at him and seized two handfuls of shirt and cut. Hauled Juice in so that they were nose to nose and shook him hard. "You listen to me, _brother_. If I had my way you'd be a stain on the pavement right now. We'd be hosing bits of you off the floor. But apparently that woman thinks you're worth somethin', and while her taste in music is questionable and her tendency to fly off the handle a severe liability, I _do_ trust her judgement about _people_. She fucked up once and learned her lesson, and I've not known her to make the same mistake twice."

Juice was so stunned he could only stare. It took him a minute to decipher Chibs' accent—it thickened when he got angry, and right now he was furious-skirting-homicidal—but once he did he shook loose and shoved him away. "What the hell are you talking about? What did she do?"

"She told us everything, Juice," Jax said. His tone was deceptively calm. "About Miles and the coke and RICO. Even about your old man." He paused and his face twisted. "You really thought we'd give a fuck about that?"

"It's in the bylaws," he muttered. He felt numb, bludgeoned and spun around and sick with it. He could barely process what Jax was saying, but one thing rang through: Olivia had betrayed his trust. She'd gone to Jax with everything. Everything he'd told her in confidence. Why would she do that? And was she ignoring his phone calls because of it? Hiding out somewhere to avoid him?

"We're changing those bylaws, Juice. We don't need that antiquated racist bullshit in our club," Jax said.

His eyes snapped up. He started to speak, but Chibs forestalled him with a gesture.

"Ollie made the deal, Juicy."

He repeated the words three or four times in his head, but still they made no sense. "I don't—she—no. Olivia's not a rat. She would never—"

"She didn't rat," Jax said. He let out a long sigh and rested against the desk. Propped his foot in the chair and leaned across his knee. "Ollie came to us and explained what happened with Eli and Miles and that US Attorney. We were ready to come after you with fuckin' pitchforks, but she stopped us."

"How?" he croaked.

Between them, Chibs and Jax gave him a recap of the whole arrangement. They explained about her father-in-law and the dirt she had on him. How she'd offered to give him up in exchange for an end to the RICO bullshit, and the only thing she asked from them is that they give Juice another chance and not tell the rest of the club what he'd done. They told him that Potter still insisted on a shot at the Irish and the cartel, so she'd fed him what the club wanted him to know, and Romeo was going to handle things from there.

When they were finished Juice stumbled backwards and collapsed onto the couch. "Jesus Christ," he whispered. "She's so goddamn much smarter than me."

Chibs snorted. "Truest thing you've said all year, laddie."

"Where is she now?" he said, his face clouding.

They exchanged wary looks and Jax straightened. "She made the call about the meet this morning, and Eli took her into custody right after."

Juice nodded slowly. "That's why he let me go. They were holding me in case she changed her mind, but now that they have her they didn't need me anymore."

"Bingo."

"What's Romeo gonna do?" he said and raised his head to look at them.

"He didn't say," Jax said. "We didn't ask."

"But once it's over, once the meet happens and Romeo does whatever he's planning—they're gonna let her go, right? She won't need protection anymore."

Chibs let out a ragged sigh. "Juicy—" He broke off and his face momentarily twisted with emotion. He gathered himself and tried again. "She's not comin' back, laddie," he said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.

"What are you talking about? Are they arresting her? For her husband? She didn't get immunity for _herself_?"

"WITSEC, Juice," Jax said, "and protective custody until she testifies. Mick Doyle is the heaviest of heavies and they won't take any chances of him getting to her before they make their case."

"This doesn't make any sense," he said. "She wouldn't just _leave_. She wouldn't—she wouldn't _do_ that." He slumped forward with his elbows on his knees and his head clutched in his hands. "She'd at least say goodbye first," he said to the floor.

Chibs rubbed a hand down his face and stepped closer to press it against Juice's back. "She didn't have a choice, brother. They weren't gonna release you until they had her, and now that they do she's cut off. We can't get to her, and they sure as fuck aren't gonna let her contact us."

He fell back against the sofa and stared out at the room with dull, unseeing eyes. "So that's it, then," he said, quietly. "She's just gone."

A silence fell. Juice was still, his hands limp at his sides, his expression lost.

"Juicy, listen to me," Chibs said. "She made this choice for you. You get that? She didn't want to go, but she thought you were worth it."

"I'm not," he said. "I don't deserve it."

"No you fucking well don't," Jax said. "But you've got it anyway, along with a second chance from us. Ollie's gone, but you're still here. Nut up and _earn_ this."

His head lurched toward Jax. "What would you do if it were Tara?"

He flinched and looked away. "That's different," he said in a rough voice.

"No, brother," Juice said, "it's not."

"You love her that much, laddie?" Chibs said after a moment.

He pushed himself to his feet and wandered toward the door. "She's it for me," he said, simply. "She's endgame. Always has been, even when I was too fucking stupid to see it."

He shook his head like a stunned animal and shuffled out into the hall. The door drifted shut behind him, and Chibs and Jax stared after him with matching expressions of vexation.

"He's gonna need watching," Jax said at last.

"Aye," Chibs said, his voice grim. Then, thoughtfully: "You think she knew?"

"Who, Olivia?"

"No, lad, the fuckin' tooth fairy." He rolled his eyes. "Of course _Olivia_. You think she knew about—?" He waved toward the door.

He considered for a time, brows drawn together over troubled blue eyes. "Nah, Chibs. I don't think she had any idea." He huffed out a breath. "I don't think it'd even occur to her."

"It's a sad thing," Chibs said with all the gravity and poetry of a true Scot, "when a beautiful woman doesn't believe she's worth loving."

"Amen to that, brother," he said and shook his head. "Amen."

* * *

_Um. Here's the thing: Clay was shot really badly, and if I remember correctly Wayne basically just sat there and waited for the ambulance. I think irl he would've needed a little more first aid than that, considering he was on oxygen for however long afterwords due to lung damage. So p. much I just have Olivia doing what I think SHOULD have been done on the show. But, I mean, it's been a long time since my first aid certification lapsed, so maybe I'm wrong; and maybe way off base with what she did, but, I dunno. I googled it?_


	19. A Place

Reviews are the best and will earn my eternal devotion. :)

* * *

**i have burnt down my past**  
**i'm lost, i'm built to last**  
**i'm built to break, but that's okay**  
**i got a place down by the lake**

**we can go there whenever you want**  
**we can go there**  
Bob Schneider, "Honeypot"

When Potter finally came for her, Olivia was both surprised and not to see him. He didn't look happy, which didn't surprise her, and he apparently wasn't there to escort her to protective custody, which _did_. She was on the bed with her knees raised and her arms propped on them, her head bent. She raised it slowly, and he offered a tight, humorless smile.

"Ms. Gable," he said. "I hope you're well."

"_Well_? Sure. I'm peachy keen." A line formed between her brows. "When are we getting on with this? I'm ready to get it over with."

He cleared his throat and flipped the chair around; straddled the seat with his arms crossed over the back. She stared at him, nonplussed, and took the large envelope he offered.

When she tipped it upside down, the first thing that fell out was a metal flash drive. She had given it to him two days ago when they signed the deal. "I don't understand," she said.

"I'm giving that back to you, if you want it. Keep looking."

She gave the envelope a little shake and two stacks of stapled papers fell out, along with the picture she'd shown him that first day, the one of her, TJ, and Teddy. One of the documents was a copy of the deal, and the other one… "What is this?"

"Ms. Gable, tell me something. Are you really so eager to leave Charming?"

She frowned. "I—" Her nose scrunched. "No, to be honest. Despite all the crazy shit. I have a home here."

"That's what I thought," he said. His head fell forward and he let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner, but yesterday was a busy day."

"Did you get what you wanted?"

He looked up with a sardonic tilt to his mouth. "No, I didn't. I'm not sure anyone did."

"What happened?" She wondered how he'd gotten away alive; she'd felt sure Romeo's enforcers would have killed him.

He hitched a shoulder. "Politics. The bad guys won, and I'm left with nothing."

"You've got a way with melodrama, Mr. Potter."

"More like an over-familiarity with bathos," he said with a grimace.

She had never heard anyone use the word _bathos_ aloud before, but somehow she wasn't all that surprised to hear it from him. And, of course he was right: so much buildup only to have it all dissolve at his fingertips. The ultimate anti-climax.

"So your big raid was less that you were hoping for?" she said.

"I can't really talk about it, and it's only partly why I came." He pointed to the first document, the original deal. "As you know, Ms. Gable, we agreed that you would give us information about yesterday's meeting, as well as everything you knew about one Theodore Flanary, aka Mick Doyle. In return, the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club would be granted immunity for RICO, and you would be granted the same for any crimes committed during or immediately following your association with Theodore Flanary or his son, Theodore Junior."

"Right…?" she said. She knew the terms of the deal. It had been a long and agonizing process to get it all hammered out. Where was he going with this?

He gestured for her to read the other one. "I've outlined new terms, and I've taken the liberty to sign it and backdate it for day before yesterday."

Her eyes widened as the read through it, but he grew impatient.

"It says that you will give us information about SAMCRO's meeting with the True IRA and the Galindo drug cartel—which you have done—and in exchange we will grant the club immunity from RICO—and you will receive immunity for any past crimes. Full stop."

"I don't understand," she said again. He'd left out anything about her former father-in-law, but he'd still granted her immunity for TJ's murder. "What about Teddy—Doyle, I mean? That's a career-making case."

"It is. I've given it a great deal of thought, and I've realized that I care more about the _work_ than the career. The Bureau has a name now, which is more than they've ever had before, and it's up to them to make something of it."

He leaned across the back of the chair and pinned her with an intense, disconcerting stare. "Ms. Gable. Do you understand the terms of this agreement?"

"There's no WITSEC."

"You won't need it, as you won't be testifying against Theodore Flanary or giving law enforcement any information about his illegal activities."

She clutched the flash drive in her fist and gaped at him. "This doesn't make sense. You're giving me back all the information I gave you? You're just…you're letting me go?"

He drummed his fingers against the metal rung. "Do you feel you need protection from the club?"

"No," she said after moment. "No, I can handle the club."

"Very good, then." He fished a pen out of an inside pocket in his leather jacket and held it out. "Make sure you date it the same way I did."

She was still stunned and couldn't quite make sense of anything that had happened in the last few minutes, but she took the pen and signed her name with numb fingers. "What happens to this one?" she said and waved the original agreement.

"That is the only copy. Do with it what you will." He rose and spun the chair back into place.

She jumped to her feet and took a step after him. "Wait," she said.

He paused and made a half-turn back. "Yes?"

"Why are you doing this? Could you at least tell me that much?"

He hesitated. His face, partially turned away and obscured by the beard, was inscrutable. "Did they force you to make this deal?"

"No, of course not," she said, surprised.

"But they knew," he said. "They knew and they didn't stop you."

"I volunteered, Mr. Potter."

"For the club?"

Her lips twisted. "No. Not for the club."

He nodded as though some great mystery had been solved. "Juan Carlos does not deserve you, Ms. Gable, and neither does that club. But your life should be your own, and you shouldn't have to sacrifice everything to protect the people you love." He threw a brief, sad smile over his shoulder. "Goodbye, Ms. Gable. I hope all goes well for you."

She opened her mouth, but she was so discomfited she couldn't find any words. He strode away, out the door, and left it open behind him. She still stood in the middle of the small room with her jaw hanging open when Roosevelt poked his head around the doorjamb.

"You okay?" he said.

She shook her head and finally clacked her jaw shut. "Yeah. I mean. I guess."

"He kinda has that effect."

"Do you know what happened with the raid?" she said with a frown.

"Not really. I just know it didn't go down."

"At all?"

He shrugged. "I can't really talk about it."

"Right," she said and looked away.

He hesitated. "You need a ride somewhere? I can take you back to TM, or home if you'd rather."

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Where's my car?"

"Ahh…" He cleared his throat and wouldn't meet her eyes. "It was entered as evidence in an on-going investigation. Seized by the county."

"Are you _kidding_ me?!" she cried.

He held up his hands. "I can get it back. It might take a few days, but since the case is being dropped I can get it back for you."

She rubbed her fingers across her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. "Good. Thank you. I would appreciate it if you would do that," she said in a carefully measured voice.

"Uh huh," he said. "And in the meantime—about that ride?"

* * *

It took time to process her out, and it was over an hour later that they pulled up in front of her house. Night had fallen, and lights burned inside the small bungalow. There was a bike parked in the driveway. She recognized it with a small grimace. She had hoped to put this off until the morning, at least.

"You need me to go in with you?" Roosevelt said. "Make sure everything's okay?"

"No. Thanks, but I'll be fine." She reached for the door handle, but he stopped her.

"Ms. Gable—"

"Call me _Olivia_, or _Ollie_, if you want. I've been _Ms. Gable_'d enough in the past few days to last a lifetime."

"Olivia," he said, smiling wryly. "I can take you somewhere else. To a motel. The club doesn't have to know about the new deal. You still have a chance to get out of Charming. A clean break. You've already said all your goodbyes."

Her face clouded and she lowered her head. "I appreciate the offer, and I understand where you're coming from, but…I can't. I can't do that."

"Nasty thing, that shooting the other night," he said after a moment.

"It really was," she said in fervent agreement.

"Happened in front of the garage, right? With you inside? Lucky you didn't get hit by a stray shot."

"I know what you're trying to do, Sheriff."

"Eli, please. I think we're on a first name basis at this point." He paused to study her. "This club is bad news, Olivia. It hurts everyone involved with it. Look what happened to Tara. The shooting the other night was the second one on TM property in the last week. This cartel shit is dangerous, and if you're not careful you'll be in the body bag next."

She lifted her head and met his earnest brown eyes. He was right, of course. She'd never wanted her life to get this heavy, and she'd never intended to stay in one place as long as she'd been here. But, like she'd told Tara, sometimes all the planning and intentions in the world didn't mean jack shit.

She patted his arm and squeezed a little. "Thank you, Eli. For the ride and for the advice." She opened the door and swung a leg out.

"Here," he said and offered her a card. "At least take this. If you ever need anything, call. I know I'm a cop, but believe it or not I'm on your side."

"It's funny, but somehow I do believe it." She took the card from him and shut the door behind her.

She let herself in the house and watched through the window with a bemused little smile as he drove away. She appreciated his efforts, but they were pointless. She'd made her decision the moment she'd agreed to take the _first_ deal. Charming—and the people in it—was her horse.

She shook her head and turned away from the window. "Juice?" she called. It was his bike in her driveway, his boots under the bench, and his cut on the coatrack.

She didn't see him in the front of the house, and after a quick check of the bedroom and bathroom came up empty she poked her head out to the back deck. He was there, slumped in one of her lawn chairs. A half-empty liquor bottle dangled from his hand. She wondered if it had been his first.

She tiptoed closer and brushed her hand over his head. "Juice?"

He started like he'd been shot. She jumped back as he sprang up from the chair, and he grabbed her and shoved her against the porch railing. His hand was around her throat and his expression was murderous.

His dark eyes bored down into hers and she stared up at him with a shocked, frightened face. Recognition trickled in slowly, a sluggish drop or two of sanity amidst drink and grief. His face folded in on itself and he shoved away.

"No," he said. "No. You're not supposed to be here. Chibs and Jax said—"

"Things change, Juicy."

He stormed inside to the kitchen sink and ducked his head under the tap as cold water gushed out. Gripped the counter so hard his knuckles were white. She chased behind and reached for him with a trembling hand, but he swatted her away before she could touch him.

Her mouth hardened. "Fuck you, Ortiz. You want to sit on _my_ porch and have a pity-party, that's fine. Knock yourself out. But don't fucking think you can drown yourself in my kitchen sink and not even give me ten seconds to explain what's going on."

He lurched back and water flew everywhere. "Explain? What the fuck is there to _explain_, Olivia? You turned state's evidence. Chibs and Jax told me all about it. You're gone. Out of Charming forever without a _goodbye_ or _so long_ or _fuck you_."

"I wanted to say goodbye, Juice. I wanted to tell you—"

"You ask me to trust you, to come to you with my shit, but then the second I do you turn around and spill it to Jax like it's nothing. You didn't even have the fucking curtesy to tell me your plan! You just _did_ it!"

"Of course I did!" she said. She surged toward him and got up in his face. "Of course I _just did it_, you dope. If I had told you you would've flipped out and tried to talk me out of it. Then what? You would've taken that deal yourself, wouldn't you? Just to keep me from doing what I did."

"You're damn fucking right I would have!" he cried, his nose inches from hers.

"And what good would that have done anyone? Could you have come back to the club knowing what you'd done? Knowing that Jax and Chibs and whoever else were in jail because you ratted? How could you have lived with that, Juice? Even if they _didn't_ find out!"

"I don't need my old lady to protect me, Olivia!"

"Good goddamn thing I'm not your old lady then!"

One hand went around her waist and the other tangled itself in her hair, heedless of the complex braid. "You fucking well are," he ground out. "I don't care if we're the only two who know it, but you _are_, Olivia."

He hauled her closer and kissed her, hard and hot and punishing, and she kissed him back just as fervently. She gripped his head and pressed close, all lush curves against lean, carved lines. His fury melted away as he held her, and his hands skimmed her body as though he thought she might disappear at any second. Their tongues brushed and their mouths melded and it was like coming home.

"I did it for you, baby," she said between kisses.

"I know," he muttered back. He could taste the salt on her lips as she cried, or he cried, or they both did. He mouthed away the wetness on her cheeks and whispered her name again and again. "I thought I'd lost you," he murmured. "I thought you weren't coming back."

She pulled away and shook her head. "I wasn't. That was the deal. I was supposed to go into protective custody, just like you said."

"So what happened?"

"I don't know. Potter showed up this afternoon with a new deal. He didn't want Doyle anymore. All it said was I give him info about the meet—like I'd already done—and the club was safe from RICO and I was safe from TJ's murder."

His brow creased in confusion. "Why would he do that?"

"He wouldn't tell me. He just said—he said I should be free to make my own choices. Juice, what happened at the meet? Why didn't Romeo kill him?"

"I got no idea," he said. "Everything went down just fine. Romeo and Luis were there, and the Irish. The only hiccup was Clay."

"How is he?" she said, unsure what she wanted the answer to be.

"Not great, but he'll make it. It'll be a long recovery, they said, because of the damage to his lungs." He paused. "I guess you saved his life."

"I just—I just did what I knew how to do."

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. "Are you back, Liv? Are you really back? You're not running again?"

"No, Juice. I'm here. I'm staying. It's you and me, babe."

He looked at her then, surprised and hopeful. "You and me," he said, softly.

He wanted to tell her everything he'd been thinking since he talked to Jax and Chibs. He wanted to tell her what he'd said to them—that she was it for him, his endgame—but he couldn't. The words caught in his throat and he choked on them. Something about her face told him she knew, and she felt the same, but she couldn't say it, either. Words could be dangerous, and they'd both been afraid for so long…

"I'm glad you're back," he said instead.

She laughed, short and sweet. "Yeah, Juicy. Me too." She shook her head and ran a hand down his arm. "I didn't have any choice. I had to come back. I only want this with you."

He kissed her then, light and soft, a butterfly's brush of lip on lip. She shook her head and pulled him closer so that the kiss deepened. She ran her hands up under his shirt to caress his chest while her tongue flicked teasingly against his. She pulled away long enough to get rid of her shirt, and he stripped his off too. He helped her with her bra, and then she pressed close again.

The heat built slowly, stoked by long, languorous kisses, honeyed words, and the smooth glide of skin on skin. He stroked his hands up and down the sleek lines of her back. Over the sweet curve of her ass. Up again, tracing the shape of her with both palms until they were cupped beneath her breasts. He didn't linger there, and instead continued up and over them—letting the heel of his hands scrape over her sensitive nipples so that she shivered—and to her shoulders. He dipped his head and kissed her where neck melted into collarbone.

"Juicy," she murmured as his mouth moved lower, down over her chest and toward the slope of her breasts, "baby, we could—the bedroom—"

"Right here," he said, his voice rough. His lips closed over her nipple and she lost the will to protest. It wouldn't be the first time they'd had sex in her kitchen.

He pressed her backwards, toward the counter, and she started to lift herself up onto it. He stopped her, and his eyes were steady on hers as he kissed lower. He ran his tongue around the underside of her breasts, where his hands had been moments before, and she gasped as his stubble rasped over her sensitive skin.

He was still mouthing her nipple, licking and sucking and rolling it between his lips, when his hands found the button on her jeans. She heard the grate of the zipper from far away. He tugged her pants down, followed by her underwear, and she kicked them aside. His hands were on her thighs, squeezing and kneading as he rubbed up and down. Her perpetually-aching bones were sore from the hard prison mattress, and his ministrations felt incredible; almost as good as what he was doing with his mouth.

He moved on, tickling her ribs with his lips and tongue, and then cut in to trail his mouth down the line of her leg. He kissed the soft skin of her inner thigh and she gasped sharply. He turned his head and brushed his lips over her mound. She wiggled, but he held her still with his hands on her hips. He looked up at her, his dark eyes intense, and pressed his nose against the crisp red curls, a few shades darker than her red-gold hair.

She looked down at him. Stroked her hand over the line and his skull and rested her palm against the back of his head. He inhaled deeply and savored the hot, torrid scent of her. He moved his hand under her right knee to lift her leg over his shoulder. She leaned back against the counter, trembling, every muscle taut with anticipation. She bit her lip and he squeezed her thigh.

"Baby, please," she whispered.

She felt his mouth move as he grinned. His tongue darted out to brush across her skin and she growled in frustration.

He gave up. He had no willpower to deny her. All he wanted was to taste her, to feel her wetness on his tongue and her legs shaking around him. He buried his face in her cunt and pressed the tip of his tongue against her clit. Teased the hood back and flicked across the sensitive nub.

Her fingers tightened against his skull as she pressed him closer. He licked up and down, from her ass to her clit and back again. She was so wet, hot and sweet and practically dripping, and he lapped up every drop. He sucked her lips into his mouth and she moaned.

"Yes, Juicy, yes, that's so good!" she said, her voice going high and breathless at the end as he swirled his tongue around and around her labia, first outer then inner. His nose bumped her clit as he thrust his tongue inside her; he moved his head up and down, back and forth, and she writhed against his face.

The low, guttural sounds of pleasure he made as he ate her pussy made her crazy. Every time she moaned or cried out his eagerness and fervor increased. He lapped up to her clit and her head fell back. Her legs shook and her nails left crescent-shaped impressions in his scalp every time he ran his tongue over it. She rocked against him and he moved in counter-rhythm, his lips and his tongue and, just barely, his teeth working up and down.

He wanted to get her off—the first time—with just his mouth, and he gripped her hips tight enough to bruise. He could tell by the cadence of her breathing she was close. He backed off, and she blinked down at him with hazy, befuddled eyes. He grinned. She lifted a brow.

He ran the tip of his tongue around her swollen lips and watched her expression change. He dipped his tongue into her and her forehead creased. He ran it up over her clit and her mouth dropped open. He pressed closer and moved his tongue in figure eights from her clit down to her entrance and back up again. He thrust it inside while his nose rubbed her; sucked her lips in and put of his mouth as he lashed her with his tongue.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" she cried and braced one hand against the counter. She ground his face into her cunt and her back arched as the orgasm hit like the crash of a wave. Wetness flooded his mouth, and he sucked it down. He held her up as her legs gave out, and he would have kept going, but she pressed a hand to his forehead and pushed him away.

"Wait," she gasped. "Hang on, Christ, I'm dying."

He laughed and kissed her thigh. "I don't think so," he said. He sat back on his heels and eased her down next to him. She rested her forehead against his shoulder and struggled to get her breath back.

"Jesus," she said. "If that's what you're gonna do when I come home, maybe I should leave more often."

"Flawed logic," he said and kissed her temple. "You want me to lick your pussy, baby, all you gotta do is ask."

She lifted her head and regarded him with amused eyes and a wry tilt to her lips. "That so?" she said.

He grinned and started to nod, but she pushed him back and down to the floor. "Something on your mind?" he said, breathlessly.

"Mmm," she said as she unfastened his pants. "Let's just say you're not the only one who likes to use their mouth."

* * *

Later as they lay twined together in her bed, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her to play with her hair, he watched the shadows from the tree outside dance on the ceiling just as he had the other night. Less than a week ago. In that short a time, two brothers had been murdered and another had been seriously wounded. Tig had apparently killed someone pretty important. Tara had almost been kidnapped and might never operate again.

He'd gone from thinking he'd lost Olivia forever to having her back again—for good this time, he hoped.

He twined a strand of hair around his finger and she stirred against him.

"You're thinking awfully loud, Ortiz."

His brows drew together and she craned her neck to look at him. "Go ahead. Spit it out."

He shifted a little. "I was just wondering—do you think—" He paused and his frown deepened. "You had a chance to get out. To leave. A totally clean get away. Do you think you'll ever regret not taking it?"

"Whoa, what?" she said and raised up on her elbow. "Juice—"

"I mean it, Liv. Since you've been here, three brothers and a prospect have been killed. Tara's been kidnapped _twice_. Abel, too, the one time. There's been a car bomb and two drive-bys and we murdered a DEA agent."

Her mouth quirked. "You don't really have to give me a rundown. I'm familiar with the club's shenanigans." She ran a hand over his chest and kissed the corner of his jaw. "Juice, listen. I can't promise I won't regret it, because I can't predict the future. Who knows what's going to happen tomorrow or next week or next month. Yeah, it's been a fucked up couple of years, but…"

"But?" he prompted when she didn't continue.

"But I don't know. I guess I have to believe it's worth it." Now it was her turn to frown. "I do regret that I won't have Teddy off my ass. I was looking forward to that part."

"I don't get why Potter would just give that up," Juice said.

"Who knows. He's a weird guy. He said they have a name, which is more than they've ever had before, and it's definitely a start.

"The good news is I still have that card to play if you idiots ever get yourselves in a situation like this again."

"Hum. If you have to go into WITSEC you're takin' me with you."

"Oh am I?"

"Yup," he said with a grin.

"You'd have to grow out your hair. And get rid of your ink."

"That's true, but...I don't know, Liv." His expression turned wistful. "I guess some things are worth it."

She laughed softly and kissed him. "You're a charmer, Juice Ortiz."

"Only when you're around."

"Hhmm. Then I guess I better stick around, huh?"

* * *

_Once again the timeline here is really bizarre, bc at the start of s5 Clay's out of the hospital but it also seems like it's only been, like, a day? So, I mean. Basically I'm saying Olivia was in custody for about 48 hours, and we're just gonna PRETEND that's enough time for Clay to've been sprung from the hospital. *eyeroll*_


	20. Light

Thanks for the reviews, kittens! I love hearing from you. :)

* * *

**and you're standing beside her **  
**the light from inside her **  
**filling up the darkness in your head **  
**it was all for a woman**  
The Airborne Toxic Event, "All for a Woman"

Light was just beginning to flood the room when he woke the next morning. He watched it creep along the floor and up the wall. Olivia was curled in a ball with her back to him, and he draped over her shoulder to brush his lips along the side of her neck. "You awake?" he said.

She grinned and shifted against him. "Uh huh. You?"

"I think so."

She flipped over so that they were face to face and ran her hands over his chest. The dimple appeared in her chin as she leaned closer to kiss him. She started to pull away after a quick peck, but he tugged her back for more. The kiss lengthened, deepened, and his fingers tightened on her waist.

She broke off with a soft laugh. "You're incorrigible, Ortiz," she said and kissed him again.

"I don't know what that means."

"Um…like, unrepentant. A hopeless case."

"Yeah," he said with a quirk of his brow. "That's about right." He recaptured her mouth and his tongue slid against hers.

"Mmm," she murmured. She leaned back, and there was a crease between her brows. Her nose was scrunched just a little, and he knew she had something on her mind.

"Hey, so. I have…I have something I want to run by you. It's just an idea, and you can say yes or no and I won't be mad and I won't judge you."

"Hum," he said. He nipped her lower lip. "If it's about anal, then the answer is a definite _yes_."

"Funny, smartass." She flashed a devilish grin. "But I'll keep that in mind."

"Ha." His expression sobered. He brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. "You kinda got me worried now. What's up?"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Finally she said, all in a rush, "What if we just left? I mean, you're the only one who knows I'm back—except Eli, and he was trying to talk me into leaving the whole drive here—"

"Wait. You got a ride home from Eli Roosevelt? Where's your car?"

A wince and a scowl. "They seized it as evidence in an on-going criminal investigation. Eli says he can get it back, but in the meantime it's the property of San Joaquin County."

He made a low noise of commiseration, but he was distracted. When had she started calling the Sanwa Sheriff _Eli_? Olivia on a first name basis with a cop. He never thought he'd see the day.

She waved a hand and pushed him back against the bed. Threw a leg over and straddled his hips. "But, listen. I'm serious. I throw some shit in a bag and we hit your house for your stuff and then we just…go. You can get your ink blacked out and send them a picture from the road. Leave your cut here."

"I don't understand," he said. "You gave up WITSEC to come back. Now you want to leave?"

"Juice," she said and leaned closer to look him in the eye. "I didn't come back for Charming. I didn't come back for the club or the job or even the guys. I came back for _you_."

He shifted beneath her and looked away. "Did you really?" he said at last.

She grabbed his chin and turned his face back to her. "Yeah, Juice. I did really."

His mouth quirked. He ran his hands over her hips and down her thighs. His expression was pensive. "It's a really tempting idea," he said.

"But…?"

Reluctantly he shook his head. "I can't, Liv. The club's a mess right now. The last thing it needs is for someone to just take off. And after the whole thing with Miles and the coke there's no guarantee they won't decide they need to hunt me down."

She bit her lip and glanced away. She couldn't decide how she felt. Disappointed, some. Relieved, a little. Unsurprised, for sure. "It's okay," she said and mustered up a smile. "I get it. This is your home. Plus, I mean, we've only been doing _this_"—she gestured between them—"for like, a week. It's a little soon to run away together."

"Well, yeah," he said with a shrug. "But I've known I wanted to be with you since, I don't know. The night we met, I guess."

She smirked and dropped a peck on his nose. "You're so easy, Ortiz."

"Well, yeah," he said again. He captured her face in his hands so she couldn't get away, and he could feel her smile against his mouth as he kissed her. She made a low noise of pleasure and ran her nails up his chest. He hissed as she dug them in a little, and she chuckled.

He had his hands on the small of her back and was rubbing in circles as he slid them higher—when they both heard the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle engine. She sat up and her head tilted.

"Sounds like Opie's bike," she said after a moment.

"You can tell that just from the engine noise?"

Her mouth twisted and she rolled off the side of the bed and onto her feet. "What kind of ace mechanic would I be if I couldn't? I've spent enough time elbow deep in your pipes to tell the difference."

He choked a little and she winked before her face turned serious. She dug a pair of jeans out of the drawer and wiggled into them. "What I don't know is why Opie would be coming here at…nine in the morning."

"He doesn't know you're gone. I mean, I don't think anyone's had a chance to tell him. After he found Piney he just lit out and no one's seen him since."

"Mmm," she said and turned away. She didn't want to lie to him, but if Jax had chosen not to tell the club who really shot Clay, it wasn't her place to do so. Or maybe it was, in Juice's case. Clearly, she thought, she'd have to make a decision about such things soon. No one could serve two masters.

The bike stopped in her driveway and a few seconds later the doorbell rang. "Hang out," she said. "I'll be right back."

She greeted Opie at the door with a smile and gestured for him to come in. He still looked harried, but not as crazed as he had been the other night. He stopped without her asking to strip off his boots, holster, and cut, and he lifted a brow at her when he saw Juice's already there.

"Am I interrupting something?" he said.

"Nope," she said, shortly.

She led him into the living room and nodded toward the couch. He hesitated a moment before he slumped down onto it. His head fell back and he let out a long sigh. She tucked her fingers into her pockets and leaned against the heavy mantel. She watched him silently. Whatever had brought him here would spill eventually, but in the meantime she knew him well enough to wait him out.

He lifted his head again and fixed her with a puzzled look. "I thought you'd be gone by now."

"I was," she said. Shrugged a shoulder. "Change of plans."

"Oh." He looked toward the window. "I almost didn't knock. Your car wasn't there, so I thought…but then I saw the bike and figured I should check anyway."

"Hmm. The cops have my car still."

He snorted out a chuckle. "Shit."

"Uh huh." A pause. "You want some coffee?"

"You've got coffee?"

"Other people like it."

He relaxed a little in the face of something so mundane. "Yeah," he said. "Coffee would be good."

She went around the couch the long way so she could drop a hand on his shoulder. She held it there, briefly, and then moved on. He hunched his body and rested his head in his hands, like Rodin's _The Thinker_ wrapped in existential angst.

She didn't waste time in the kitchen. She got the coffee maker going and set it to beep when it was ready and then hurried back to the living room. She forced her gait into nonchalance and sank down into the chair catty-corner to the sofa.

"You thought I might be gone but you came by anyway," she said after a time.

"Just in case," he said with a grunt.

"Came to say goodbye?"

He sat up and spread his hands in a shrug. "I don't know, Ollie. I guess. It didn't seem right, you leavin' like that."

"You voted for it."

"Yeah, but—" He broke off with a shake of his head. "Don't mean I liked it."

Her mouth quirked. "Yeah. I wasn't thrilled with it either."

"That why you came back?"

"I was given the option," she said slowly. "Apparently Potter's priorities changed, and he gave me a choice. I chose to be here."

He nodded and looked down at his hands. Clenched one around the other and squeezed despite the bandage around his palm. The heavy gold rings dug into his skin so hard it made her wince.

"Opie—"

"Clay killed my dad," he said. "He ordered Tig to kill Donna."

Her brow furrowed. "I know."

"You saved his life, Ollie."

She tilted her head in quiet astonishment. "You would feel better if I'd let him die? You'd be okay with that? Really, Ope? Because somehow, no matter how furious you are, I don't think you would be."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do," he ground out in a low voice.

"Maybe I don't. Maybe after two and a half years you're nothing but a stranger to me." She paused and her eyes narrowed. "I know a few things, though. I know you're a better man than Clay Morrow. He killed your father, but you didn't kill him."

"Not for lack of tryin'."

"No, that's true. But we all do crazy things in the heat of the moment."

"Is that why you shot your husband? _The heat of the moment_?"

She looked away, toward the fireplace and the Turner print that hung above it. The wild, swirling sea calmed her somewhat, and her voice was steady when she finally spoke. "No, Ope. I planned that for a while. Murder One all the way."

She said it baldly and without a hint of regret. Part of him admired her for it. It wasn't easy to take control of your own life—he knew that better than most—but that's exactly what she'd done, consequences be damned.

"Jax said he had it comin'."

"Jax knows less than half the story, but yes. He did." She let out a long breath and leaned toward him. "Look, Ope, there was part of me that wanted to let Clay die. After what he did to Gemma and what he tried to have done to Tara, Piney's murder was like icing on the shit cake."

"So why'd you do it? Nobody would've blamed you if he'd died. You're a mechanic, not a doctor."

She was quiet for so long he thought she might not answer. The coffee maker beeped. They both ignored it. Then, just as he was about to give up, "I don't ever want to kill anyone again. TJ _did_ deserve it, and I'll never regret that, but—" She hitched a shoulder. "The world is a fucked up place. It doesn't need me adding to the fuckery."

"We kill a lot of people."

"You're involved in enterprises of a criminal and nefarious nature. Murder comes with the territory."

"Jax says he wants to get us out of all that shit. The drugs and the guns."

"Good on Jax. Maybe now that Clay's down and out he'll have a shot at it."

"You could've told me the truth about you and Juice."

It was such a sudden shift that she took a moment to stare at him. "I didn't think you…we don't usually talk about that sort of thing. Personal shit."

"Right," he said. "You've always been great at stayin' out of my marriage."

She acknowledged that with a wry twist of her mouth. "I can't believe you fucked _Ima_."

"Don't change the subject, Ollie."

"You wanna talk about my sex life, I can talk about yours."

"Touché," he said with a brittle smile.

"There's no excuse for what Clay did to your father, but I'm sure he'll have one anyway."

"He always does."

"Will you bring it to the club?"

"I don't know," he said after a thoughtful moment. "Jax lied and said black shot Clay. They'll be pissed when they find out different."

"Especially Tig."

"Fucker lost his shit and killed that girl. You know who she was?"

"Juice said Damon Pope's daughter."

"That name mean somethin' to you?"

A shrug. "I've heard it before. From what I gather he's not really someone you want to tangle with. Tig might just've screwed the pooch with this one."

"It's my fault," he said, a hoarse rumble. "Jax lied for me."

"He did, and he had his reasons. You can't control Tig's actions, Opie. You can't blame yourself for his stupid decisions." She paused. "Is that why you came? Because you feel guilty over Veronica Pope?"

Now it was his turn to go quiet. Once again she waited him out, her bright green eyes steady as she watched him wrestle with…whatever it was.

"Opie," she said when he didn't speak, "you need to make up your mind."

His head lurched toward her. "What do you mean?"

"You're upset right now. That's understandable. But Jax and the others are about to go to jail. You need to decide if you're in, or you're out. The club can't handle much more instability."

"I never thought I'd hear you argue in favor of the club."

She lifted her hands. "I'm not. I'm arguing against indecision, because it's the worst killer of all. Like in _Dune_: Fear is the mind-killer." She waved it away at his blank look. "Whatever your decision is, make it. Jax is your best friend. You at least owe him an answer."

He fell silent again. She could tell her words had affected him. She wondered if she'd said too much. She thought maybe not. Or at least she hoped. She let out a soft breath and changed the subject.

"You need a haircut, Ope. You look even more like Chewbacca now than you did the first time I saw you."

It surprised a laugh out of him, and she grinned. "C'mon," she said. "Let's have some coffee and you can help me figure out the best way to tell everyone I was just kidding on the whole _leaving forever_ thing."

"You gonna let Juice come out from wherever he's hiding?"

"Nah," she said. "He's tied to the bed buck naked, so—"

"Fuck, Ollie, come on!"

She laughed. "I'm kidding." She touched his knee and pointed toward the kitchen. "Go get your coffee. I'll find Juice."

"Ollie," he said as she started away.

She turned back, brows raised in a question.

"You coulda told me. He's a brother. You're my friend. You could've said."

"I'm telling you now."

"Only because I found out."

She sighed and stepped closer. "People keep telling me the club is dangerous. It's an addiction. It sucks you in and won't let go." She lifted her hands. "All of that's true. I'm not an old lady, Ope. I don't want to be one. And I don't want SAMCRO in my bed."

"I get that. You know I do," he said, thinking of Donna. He lowered his voice so only she could hear. "But you can't have it both ways, Ollie. Just like you said to me: you gotta make a decision. You either take him with the club and all the shit that comes along…or you don't."

"I know," she said. "I'm working on it."

"Just be careful, okay?"

"Careful's my middle name, _mon ami_. Don't worry about that."

But he did worry, and he wondered, with things heating up the way they'd been lately, how long she'd be able to keep her balancing act going. She'd decided a long time ago to accept the club as part of her life, but she didn't seem to get that there were no such things as lines. Juice was SAMCRO, SAMCRO was Juice. Like she'd said to him, you couldn't have it both ways. He didn't know if she'd take her own advice. She was stubborn as hell, and somehow he thought she'd try to avoid the decision until it was too late.

Who would be around to help her then?

* * *

When Opie's phone rang and he saw it was Jax he frowned down at it in surprise. Olivia lifted a brow and he hitched a shoulder. He flipped the phone open and said hello.

She and Juice listened to Opie's end of the conversation with growing confusion.

"What, _today_?" he said. Then, "What's Diosa?"

Juice smothered a laugh and Olivia rolled her eyes. She'd heard all about Diosa from him last night.

"Jax. You're getting married, _today_, in a brothel?"

"What?!" Olivia hissed. "Married?"

He waved her quiet. "Yeah, man. Of course I'll be there. You stood up for me." He tensed. "Yeah. I guess Clay should be there, too. I'll be fine." He listened for a few moments longer and then said goodbye and shut the phone.

Olivia exploded.

"_Married_?! Jax and Tara are getting married? You're kidding!"

"He said they wanted to do it before he gets picked up for that thing with the One-Niners."

"I guess there's no time like the present."

Juice's phone went off then. "It's Chibs," he said. "Probably with my invitation." He turned away to answer it, and Olivia's face fell.

"What's the matter?" Opie said.

"I just really wish I could go, that's all," she said with an uneasy shrug.

"Why can't you? You're back, right?"

"Yeah, but only you two know that."

"Okay, but, I think they'll figure it out when you walk in the door."

She let out an exasperated sigh. "It's not nice to take focus away from the bride on her wedding day, Opie. They'll all have questions and I'll have to tell the whole story and it's supposed to be a _wedding_."

Juice had rejoined them, and he lifted a shoulder as his mouth twisted in a half smile. "The only reason Opie's wedding was on the rez is so we could shoot the Russians without any cops around."

"You weren't even _at_ Opie's wedding," she said with a scowl.

"I was there. I just left before the reception. To kill Russians."

She sat back and rolled her eyes. "This whole place is completely fucked."

"Tara would be upset if she knew you were back and you didn't come," Juice said.

He was probably right about that. And she would hate to be stuck sitting at home all alone while everyone else was— "I don't have my car," she said.

"What's that gotta do with anything?"

"I can't ride to a wedding on the back of a motorcycle, Juice. I can't wear jeans and steel-toed boots, for fuck's sake."

Juice and Opie shared an exasperated look. Opie grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, and gave her a light shove toward the hall. "Go put your girly shit in a bag and come the fuck on."

"No need to get handsy," she said. But she went.

"And put on a fuckin' bra!" he yelled after her.

Her arm appeared around the doorframe and she shot him the bird. "Quit lookin' at my tits, Winston. I'm not afraid to kick your Chewbacca ass."

He and Juice cracked up at that, and their laughter followed her all the way back to the bedroom.

* * *

To say they were surprised to see her was an understatement. Jax wasn't around, but Chibs and Bobby immediately grabbed her and herded her into one of the "relaxation rooms." They grilled her for almost half an hour, and she answered each and every question as patiently as she could: yes, they were still immune from RICO. No, she had no idea why he'd done it. Yes, she was safe from TJ's murder. No, they wouldn't need her to testify against Doyle. No, for fuck's sake, she had no fucking clue why he'd done it!

At last they seemed satisfied and let her go to find Tara. Bobby assured her he'd call Jax and fill him in so she wouldn't get the third degree from him, too—or at least she wouldn't until after the wedding.

Once she was finally free, one of the girls pointed her toward the bathroom. Tara was at the sink trying to secure an orchid in her hair. It fell out and she cursed.

"Need some help with that?" Olivia said.

Tara's head jerked up and she met Olivia's eyes in the mirror. Her mouth fell open. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too."

She spun around. "You know what I mean, Ollie. You're supposed to be in protective custody. Jax told me—he told me what you did." Her expression changed. "I guess that's what our conversation in the hospital was about."

"Yeah," she said, drawing the syllable out. "I'm sorry. I would've told you, but—"

"Forget it. I'm just glad you're here." She seemed close to tears, and Olivia figured it only had a small amount to do with her. Tara pulled her in for a hug and held on a little longer than she needed to.

Olivia leaned away and studied her face through shrewd, knowing eyes. "What's up? You seem a little less hyper-thrilled than a bride should be."

"No, I'm happy. I'm happy!"

"You love him."

"He's the love of my life."

"And you know what his life is like."

"I've been living it since we were kids."

"Okay, then. So your wedding's in a brothel a few hours before your husband is arrested for murder. I'm sure it's _some_ girl's dream wedding."

Tara laughed through her tears and Olivia squeezed her arms. "I don't get it. Are you back, or did you get some sort of wedding furlough? How did you even know?"

She turned Tara around to face the mirror and tugged the pins from her hair. They were clearly going to have to start over. As she worked she told Tara about the new deal, and everything Potter had said—including that last puzzling exchange, which she hadn't mentioned to anyone else.

"He did it because of Juice?"

She shrugged a shoulder and concentrated on the tiny braids she was weaving. "I don't know. I guess so. He was a weird guy, Tara. Maybe he's a romantic at heart."

"Hum," she said, doubtfully.

"Yeah, I don't really buy that either. I think he was pissed because his raid didn't work out—which nobody'll tell me about, by the way—and so he decided to…I don't know. Throw out the book or something. Put somebody's nose out of joint. Keep your head still."

"So you don't know what happened at the raid?"

"Nope. Why? Do you?"

She cleared her throat and her eyes in the mirror slid away.

"I figured. It's okay; I'm not asking. Whatever it is it must be big. I don't think Juice has a clue, either."

"From what I gather only Jax, Bobby, and I know."

"Good. Let's keep it that way. I don't want to give your almost-husband any more reasons to distrust me."

Tara's expression was troubled. "Jax trusts you, Ollie."

"Not really. But, then…" She trailed away and shook her head. _It's hard to trust when you can't be trusted_, she wanted to say. But it was pretty rude to insult the groom to the bride, so she kept her mouth shut.

"Here, look," she said and turned Tara's head. "Good?"

"That looks amazing! Wow. How did you learn to do that?" She'd divided Tara's dark hair into several small braids that fed into a larger one. She had looped that up into a bun, but some strands still dangled free.

She shrugged a shoulder and started to twist the free strands into loops that crossed behind the bun like Christmas bunting. "My mom had long hair when I was a kid and she used to let me braid it for her. She taught me most of this."

"Is that why you wear yours like so long? To be like her?"

"Mmm," she said, her mouth full of pins. "My former husband made me keep it cut short, so the second I was away from him I started growing it out. I haven't cut it since, except a trim now or then."

She reached over Tara's shoulder for the flower and wove its stem in place above her ear. "There," she said. "Perfect."

She studied her reflection a moment, and when she turned back her eyes shimmered with tears again. "I'm glad you're here," was all she said.

"Me too," Olivia replied. She was suddenly fighting tears of her own. They embraced. "You're gonna do great, Tara. You two belong together."

"Thank you, Ollie," she whispered.

They held on a bit longer before she pulled away. Olivia brushed a knuckle across her cheek and smiled a second before her face transformed into a puzzled expression. "What are you wearing?"

Tara looked down at her jeans and top. "Just this, I guess. I don't have a dress."

Olivia's eyes went wide. "Tara Grace Knowles, you are _not_ getting married in jeans!"

She rolled her eyes. "I should never have told you my middle name. You sound like my mother."

"Don't worry," she said and unzipped her bag. "I brought something. It might be a little short, but I think we can work with it."

"Work with it how? Tear down the curtains?"

"It's an idea," she said with a shrug. "But, no. Paper would probably be better. Stay here."

"Ollie, what—?"

But she was already gone, and Tara was left in the bathroom holding a vintage style blue dress (definitely too short, and probably too big across the boobs) and wondering what the hell she had gotten herself into. A mechanic with a penchant for crafts. What would they think up next?

* * *

_If you've never read the Fae series by Karen Marie Moning, there's a great quote that comes to mind (and I'm paraphrasing): When things get tough, a Southern girl knows to tear down the curtains and make a new dress._

_The theme of "we shouldn't be here this place is poison" is only gonna get stronger in the coming chapters. This is the beginning of s5, so y'all know what's ahead. :(_


	21. That's It

Alright, loves, what you have before you is a textbook case of avoidance. I didn't want to dive into all the sad stuff just yet, so here. Have 3.5k words of fighting and dirty makeup sex.

* * *

**hate stumbles forward and leans in the door**  
**weary head hung, eyes to the floor**  
**he says "love, i'm sorry," and she says, "what for?**  
**i'm yours and that's it, whatever**  
**i should not have been gone for so long**  
**i'm yours and that's it, forever**  
**you're mine and that's it, forever"**  
The Avett Brothers, "The Ballad of Love and Hate"

She'd used the curtains after all.

She hadn't had time to remake the whole dress, of course, so instead Tara had worn it as-is (with a few strategically placed pins to adjust the top), and she'd made a sort of jacket, like a long duster, to go over it. Carla (Nero's assistant, apparently? Olivia hadn't been super clear on that relationship.) had flipped out, but Nero mollified her by promising she could pick out new curtains, whatever she wanted. The long sheers were perfect for what Olivia had in mind, and so while Tara's wedding "gown" may not have been exactly everything she'd dreamed, at least it was better than blue jeans.

Olivia had stood up for Tara, and Opie for Jax. When Tara asked her she said something about being sisters, and that was as far as she got before they were both bawling all over each other like idiots. Some part of her wondered when her life had become about wedding dresses and tear-soaked hugs in bathrooms, but overall she'd rather improvise a last minute dress than a chest tube.

Gemma had shown up, incensed because apparently no one had remembered to invite her. She'd given Tara her and John Teller's wedding rings, and no matter how tough she pretended to be, Olivia could tell Tara was both touched and relieved by the gesture. She might act like it didn't matter, but the queen regent and matriarch's blessing meant something.

The ceremony was brief but heartfelt, and Chibs' unexpected addition brought tears to everyone's eyes. When it was over, and the judge pronounced them man and wife, the room exploded in applause. She and Juice locked eyes across the room, and her smile was wry.

He gave her a ride home that night, after they all watched Opie attack some cops to get his ass arrested along with the others, and he came inside when she invited him. He had seemed sort of strange, like he had something he wanted to say but couldn't figure out how. She almost asked him, demanded he just spit it out so it would stop lurking there behind his eyes, but she hadn't. He was gone the next morning when she woke up, off on some club business no doubt—he'd been acting as Clay's driver and general assistant since he'd gotten out of the hospital.

Considering Olivia's current opinion of Clay Morrow, she wasn't completely comfortable with that arrangement. She hadn't told Juice what had passed between them the night Opie shot him (which apparently the club knew about now; also about what happened to Piney, though Clay had told them some distorted Clay-version of events, as Olivia had predicted), and at the wedding they had largely avoided one another. She knew how Juice felt about Clay, how grateful he was that _someone_ in the club treated him like he mattered, and while Olivia could only see manipulation and subtle, stinging lies, Juice took him at face value.

She wouldn't rob him of that. She would keep an eye on the situation, and if she thought Clay was setting him up for something dangerous she would intervene. In the meantime it simply seemed like the actions of a desperate and lonely man who longed for the esteem he'd once enjoyed. And there was always the possibility that his brush with death and been a wake up call and now he was genuinely trying to make himself a better man.

Olivia had her doubts about that, too.

She technically didn't have to be at work; Gemma hadn't put her back on the schedule yet; but she was restless and bored and needed something to do. Tara was already at the hospital, she knew Lyla had her hands full between work and the kiddos, and she had no desire to perch on the back of yet another motorcycle, so it was Gemma she called for a ride in.

And that was how Olivia ended up at Diosa for the second day in a row. Juice was there, and Clay (somewhere, but she hadn't asked), and Gemma had holed up with Nero almost immediately upon their arrival. Left to her own devices, Olivia struck up a conversation with one of the girls. It turned out they had the same favorite book—_American Gods_ by Neil Gaiman—and they spent the next fifteen or so minutes debating various points of fact about Shadow and Sam Black Crow and Lakeside, Wisconsin.

Juice watched it all from behind a magazine he pretended to read. Olivia laughed and touched the girl's shoulder. She apparently said something about Olivia's hair, because she tugged it free of its pins and held the long braid out for the girl's inspection. She _ooh_ed and _aah_ed and ran her hand down the red-gold rope.

Juice scowled and shifted in his seat. Tossed the magazine aside and pulled out his phone. He tried to play Tetris, but he hated the shitty black and white display and he quickly grew bored. Olivia and the girl were laughing again, and Juice watched with narrowed eyes as she wrote something on a slip of paper and tucked it in Olivia's pocket.

That was the last straw. He exploded off the couch and strode toward her. Her eyes widened as he grabbed her wrist. "Can I talk to you?" he said.

Her glance darted from him to the girl and back again. "Sure, Juicy. Can it wait, or—?"

"_Now_, please."

She tugged her arm from his grasp and flashed a tight smile. When she turned back to the girl the tension eased from her face and her expression became friendly and open. "Looks like we'll have to continue this later." She patted her pocket. "Thanks for the number, Sasha."

"No problem, Olivia. Take care of yourself," she said with a quirk of her brows and a knowing look in Juice's direction.

Juice glowered and motioned for her to follow. She rolled her eyes at Sasha and fell in step behind him. His shoulders were rigid, his back tight, and she could tell from the cant of his head he was pissed.

He waited for her to enter the room ahead of him and slammed the door so hard she jumped. She spun toward him, brow furrowed and mouth a tight line.

"What the _fuck_, Juice? That was incredibly rude, and I don't appreciate you _grabbing_ me—"

"How did you think I was gonna react, Olivia? What did you think I would do?"

"React to what? Do about _what_? What the hell is wrong with you?"

He threw an arm out, back toward the lobby. "You were all over that girl right in front of me! Laughing and flirting. You even got her fucking _number_! I was sitting _right there_!"

She gaped at him. _That's_ what had him spitting nails? He was jealous? Of a conversation? "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious! You were flirting with a _whore_—"

"Whoa. Watch yourself, Ortiz."

"That's what she is!"

"Her profession is none of your fucking business. Might as well say _she_ was flirting with a _mechanic_!" She waved her hands and made a face like she'd smelled something awful.

He glared at her. "So you admit it."

"Admit what? We were _talking_, Juice."

"You let her touch your hair!"

"She wanted to know how long it was! She asked if she could touch it and I said yes. It was nothing, for fuck's sake."

"It would be nothing if you didn't—" He cut himself off and jerked his head. The muscles danced in his jaw and he shoved his fists into the pockets on his cut.

"If I didn't _what_?" she said in a low, dangerous voice. "If I didn't fuck women? That's what you mean, isn't it? Because right now you're acting like someone put their hands all over your property without your permission."

His mouth fell open. "That's not what I meant, Olivia."

She just fumed at him, eyes narrowed and face flushed.

"Fuck," he muttered. Then, "Yeah, fine! It pissed me off, and it wouldn't have if I didn't know the the person you were with before me was a woman!"

Her eyes flared and scarlet flooded her cheeks. "You want to know something else? They've _all_ been women. Every person I've slept with since TJ. All women. _Except you_! You're the only guy I've even really _looked_ at in the last seven years. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

He ducked his head and his face screwed up. He hadn't known that. She'd hinted at it, sort of, but this was the first time she'd come out and said it. "It does," he said. "But I just—"

"You _what_, Juice? What do you think bisexuality is? Do you think it means I have some sort of uncontrollable libido and I just fuck anyone I find the least bit attractive?"

He hitched a shoulder. Sort of. Maybe. But he wasn't stupid enough to admit it aloud.

"Goddammit, Ortiz! I have no fucking time for your biphobia and the idiotic notions you've gleaned from way too much _porn_! Next you'll be demanding I call you _daddy_ while you come on my face!"

That startled him into looking at her. He opened his mouth to protest, but she grabbed double handfuls of his cut and hauled him closer. Her eyes were hot, verdant sparks. "Are you in this with me or not?"

"Of course I am," he said. "You know I am."

"Are you planning to fuck somebody else?"

"What? Olivia, no—"

"Okay! Then why the hell do you think _I_ would? If you've got so little faith in me that I can't even have a conversation with a cute girl then we're in serious trouble."

"I didn't—"

"Yeah, Juice, you did. You think it's easy for me to see the crow eaters hanging all over you? They all think you're so cute with your big sad eyes and your tight little brown ass. And it's not like you'd even have to waste time flirting! One crook of your finger and they're basically _obligated_ to come running. You have a fucking harem at your beck and call and I'm supposed to just be _cool_ with that."

He grabbed her wrists and pried her fingers from his cut. "You never said anything. You told me you didn't care about them. The night of the party you said you didn't give a fuck." Her exact words had been _I don't give a flying fuck_. He hadn't forgotten a second of that encounter at the swings despite the alcohol in his blood at the time.

"I don't. Of course I don't." She spun away and shook her head. Raised trembling hands to scrape back her hair. "Except I fucking well do and I'd be an idiot if I didn't," she said over her shoulder.

"So that's why you flirted with that girl? Because of the crow eaters?"

She rounded on him and he knew he'd said exactly the wrong thing.

"I. Was. Not. Flirting with her. We were _talking_." She pulled the paper from her pocket and flung it at him. "She gave me the number of her esthetician because I asked her where the girls get their _bikini waxes_!"

He blinked. "Why would you—?"

"Why do you _think_, asshole?!"

"Oh," he said as the light dawned. He realized then he'd made a very grave error. He rubbed a hand over his scalp and ducked his head. "Olivia, fuck, I'm sorry. I—"

"Oh no!" she said and jabbed a finger at him. "No way. You don't get to wiggle your way out of this with puppy eyes and some lame ass apology. You _seriously_ thought I was picking someone up while you sat and _watched_? What kind of person do you think I am?"

His mouth hardened and he surged toward her. He grasped her arms and squeezed. "You're mine, Olivia. That's what you are. Not my possession, that's not what I mean, but still _mine_. I wanna tell every fucking person I see and you want to keep it all a secret and it's got me so mixed up I can't even see straight."

She tried to shove him away but he gripped tighter and pulled her against him. "You're not going anywhere," he said.

She lifted her chin and met his angry gaze without flinching. "It's no one else's business, Juice. No one else needs to know what we are."

"Fine," he said, a husky growl. "Maybe _I_ need to know what we are."

"You just said it." Her voice shook, and that seemed to make her angrier.

"I want to hear _you_ say it."

"Fuck you, Ortiz," she hissed.

His head tilted in a thoughtful nod. "Now we're getting somewhere," he said. He lowered his head and cut off her protest with a furious kiss. She bit his lip and he drew back with a grimace.

She laughed and jerked her arms from his hold. Grabbed his head and pulled him down again. Her tongue lathed over the tender spot and he moaned against her mouth as their lips met. She shoved his cut off his shoulders and yanked his shirt over his head. He pushed her onto the sofa and was on top of her before she had her breath back.

He rucked her shirt up under her chin and licked a line from her breasts to the waist of her jeans. Her back arched. He undid the button on her pants and lowered the zipper, but as she started to reach for him he flipped her onto her belly. She gasped in surprise and her head came up off the cushions. She shook her hair off her face and cast a long look over her shoulder. Her eyes were all pupil as she watched him. He bared his teeth in a grin that made her dig her teeth into her lip.

He raised her up onto her knees and tugged her pants down her thighs. He took a moment to admire the long line of her back and the rounded curve of her ass. She wiggled.

"Juice, what—?"

"Shhh," he whispered. He stroked a hand over her buttocks. "Hush, baby."

She whimpered as he spread her cheeks. He ran his tongue from her hole to her clit and back again. He wanted her dripping. Aching and begging and wanton. She wasn't his possession, his property, like some object that could be bought and sold—but she was still his, and he was hers, and it didn't matter who did or didn't know.

All of these thoughts flashed through his head in an instant, and when he lowered his mouth again he was grinning. He circled his tongue around her hole, back and forth across it, up and down, until he could feel the muscles in her thighs quiver every time he touched her. She had her face buried in a pillow to muffle the sounds she made, but he could still hear her breathless gasps and heated moans, and each one was a thrill.

He moved down and lapped at her pussy. Across her clit. Around her lips. He sucked each one into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it as he slid it in and out.

"Fuck," she whimpered, her voice clearer as she lifted her head. "That's so good, Juicy!"

"You want more?" he said and drew a finger along her wet slit.

She nodded wordlessly. He slid the finger into her and drew it out. She groaned in frustration and he smirked.

"Not enough?"

"You know what I want," she said through gritted teeth.

"Hhmm. Yeah. I guess I do."

She heard the jingle of his belt and the scrape of his zipper and her hips pressed back against him eagerly. He grasped her thighs to hold her still. She felt the head of his cock glide along where his finger had just been and she bit her lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

He brushed it across her clit and she rocked backwards. He swore and his hips jerked. She laughed.

"Looks like I'm not the only one getting desperate," she said, breathlessly.

He squeezed her thighs. "Say it, Liv," he demanded, his voice rough and thick.

"Say what?" she said, and he could hear her smirk.

He dipped the head of his cock into her and pulled it out again. Slid it back down over the sensitive nub. "You know what."

She let out a strangled moan as he pushed into her halfway and then stopped. "Please, baby!"

His breath hitched and he clenched his jaw. "That's nice," he said. "That's—" Her muscles tightened around him and he choked. "You know—what I meant," he managed.

In his distraction he'd loosened his grip on her thighs, and she took advantage of it. She eased back and he slid in deeper. He groaned and buried himself in her to the hilt.

"Not. Fair," he said.

Her laugh turned into a gasp as he pulled out to the tip and thrust back in again.

"You're mine, Ortiz," she said, her voice hard and tight and almost angry. "You're mine and I'm yours and that's it."

He let out a strangled cry and yanked her back. He moved in long deep strokes, pulling her against him as he pushed into her. It went on and on until she thought she'd lose her mind. She begged him to go harder, faster, and he ground his teeth together.

"Don't wanna hurt you," he gasped out.

"You won't!" she said on a moan. "Please, Juicy!"

"Fuck—!" His control snapped and he slammed into her. She buried her face in the pillow and eagerly met every thrust. He slid his hand around her body and found her clit, and as soon as his fingers touched her he felt her tense.

She threw a look over her shoulder and he could read what she wanted in her eyes. He rocked against her and teased her clit. He pressed in deeper and her mouth curved as she jerked her head in a nod.

"Now, baby," she said.

Her name fell from his lips like an oath and her head fell back as the orgasm hit. She clenched around him like a vise, again and again, drawing him deeper, and he came with her, an electric jolt as he pumped into her. His own climax left him shaking, and it had no sooner passed than he pulled out and dropped to his hands.

"What…?" she murmured in confusion.

Then his mouth was on her and her mind blanked. He chased a trickle of their mingled come as it slid down the inside of her thigh and followed it back up to her cunt. He lapped at her, flicking his tongue up and down to catch every drop. He pressed his mouth against her and sucked. She moaned and ground against his face. He swirled his tongue around her hyper-sensitive clit until she tried to pull away, and then he moved up to dip it inside of her.

He pulled it out to flick over her clit and then thrust it back in again. Twisted it inside of her. He sucked and licked and nibbled until she let out a long, high-pitched keen and he felt a fresh surge of wetness against his tongue. He moaned and kept going until she begged him to stop. He leaned back reluctantly and pressed a kiss to her thigh.

She started to slide onto her stomach, but he tugged her back against him as he sat so that she was perched on his lap. She laughed a little and raised a hand to rub the back of his neck and up over his skull.

"Well," she said.

"Mmhhmm," he murmured. He dipped his head to kiss her throat. She shifted against him.

"My pants," she said with a frown. She toed off her shoes and he helped her wiggle free of the heavy denim. When she was settled again she cut a look up at him. "They'll probably want their room back soon."

"I'll pay Nero for his trouble," he said and sucked her earlobe.

"And what about me?" she said. Her fingers dug into his thigh as his tongue hit a sensitive spot behind her ear. "I'm missing work right now."

"Ohh," he said, drawing the syllable out. "Then I'll pay you for your time, too."

She twisted around to face him and he reached to unclasp her bra. She looked down with a vexed expression that made him laugh. He rubbed his thumb over her nipple and she glanced up with a lifted brow.

"Hmm," she said. "And what if I don't want your money?"

He shrugged and pressed his mouth to her shoulder. "We'll think of something."

"So confident, Mr. Ortiz."

"Yep," he said with a grin. He lifted her with strong hands and slid her down onto his cock.

She bit out a gasp. "Already?" she said.

"Yep," he repeated, his voice gone husky.

She kissed him then, her mouth hot and heady, her tongue a smooth velvet glide against his. "You're mine, Ortiz," she said when the kiss broke.

"I know," he told her. His eyes were steady on hers, and she could read the unspoken apology written there. "And you're mine. Nothing else matters."

This time it was slow and sweet, filled with languorous kisses and unhurried caresses, whispered words and soft laughter. It lasted a long, long time, and the world outside might as well have burned down for all the thought they gave it.

* * *

_Can't avoid 5x3-4 any longer, kids, so expect things to get tough next chapter._

_Also, we'll start to see the fallout from Olivia's new "deal."_


	22. I'm Good Now

Aaaannd we're back! See the end for a slightly more rambly author's note with some explanations of some shit.

Thanks for the reviews, loves. They warm my heart and help me through these blocks I've been having the last several days. :)

* * *

**wondering about the things he'd done**  
**thinking about his life and the fun he'd had**  
**choices that he made and roads he had taken**  
**and he thought about his kids and all the crazy things he did**  
**and he wondered if anything at all really matters**

**when your life is almost over and there is no hope to be found**  
**when you're dying and blood is spilling out all over the ground**  
**and the last words he said although he hardly made a sound**  
**and he spoke each word in spanish cause he couldnt speak no english**  
**he said i'm good now**  
Bob Schneider, "I'm Good Now"

After Gemma kicked them out of the weight room, Juice went looking for Olivia. He realized she might not've heard about Opie. He didn't want her to find out accidentally, or later when everyone started to show up for the service. He thought it would be better for her to hear it directly, and he felt guilty for not thinking of it sooner.

He checked the garage. Empty. She still didn't have her car, and he hadn't seen her in the clubhouse. Maybe she hadn't come in today, or had already gone home. He thought about calling her, but he had one place left to check. The office was dark, the blinds closed, but when he tried the door it opened.

She sat on the couch with her head bowed. There was a box of tissues next to her, and a neat pile of balled up used ones at her feet. He flipped on the light. When she lifted her chin to look at him, her face was red and blotchy, her eyes swollen, her expression devastated.

"Fuck," he muttered.

"I thought I locked that one, too," she said.

He shut the door behind him and locked it. He hesitated for a moment before he sat down next to her. "Babe—"

"I don't understand, Juicy. I don't—what is _wrong_ with this place?" Her voice was dazed and disbelieving, her eyes blank. "Sack and Miles and Kozik and Piney. Donna and Hale and Luann and Veronica Pope. It's like a sick joke. There're no happy endings here, Juice. None. Just death and nihilism."

He had no idea what _nihilism_ meant, but he couldn't imagine it was anything good. He felt helpless in the face of her grief, and he knew there was nothing he could say that would make anything better. Especially since she was right.

He put his arm around her and pulled her close. Brushed his lips over the top of her head and just held on. Her shoulders shook and he felt a growing wetness against his shirt. He let her cry. Like she'd done for him the night he tried to swing from that tree, he didn't try to hush her or offer reassurances or hollow comfort.

"He wasn't even supposed to be there," she said.

"He made a choice, Liv."

"I know he did. He made a _choice_ and I'm the one who _told him_ to."

He frowned at her, nonplussed. "Babe, what—?"

"That day he came over to my place we talked about it and I said he needed to choose: in or out, for good and all. I guess he did."

He raised her chin and ran a hand over her face. "Don't do that. Don't try to take this on. It wasn't you. Opie and Jax were best friends practically since _birth_. If anyone was gonna do this, it'd be Ope."

She hissed and pushed away. "But for what, Juice? For this _club_? What did the club ever give him? The club killed his wife and his father. The club sent him to prison for five years. He didn't owe this fucking MC a goddamn thing."

He reached for her, and when she tried to bat his hands away he wouldn't let her. "Not for the club. For Jax. For his best friend. They were brothers above and beyond SAMCRO. You know that, Olivia."

Her breath hitched on a sob and she looked away. "Jackson Teller didn't deserve him."

He winced but didn't disagree. He and Opie hadn't been all that close. Juice had done his prospect year and been patched in while Opie was inside, and once he got out he tended to stick mainly with Jax or Bobby or sometimes Chibs. But regardless of whether they'd been best buddies or virtual strangers, Opie had been a brother. He had sacrificed himself for Jax and (no matter what he said to Olivia) the club. Contrast that with Juice who had stolen from the club and killed a brother. Miles' name had been on Olivia's list of the dead, and Juice was the one who'd put it there.

Opie Winston, no matter what the measure, was ten times the man he was.

"I'm not sure any of us did," he said at last.

She sniffled. "I need to go find Lyla. She shouldn't be alone right now."

"In a minute," he said and pulled her back down.

She didn't bother to argue, just nodded and leaned against him. He wrapped his arms around her again.

"No more of this, Juicy. I can't take it. What if it had been you? I could be where Lyla is right now, except I'm not even officially your old lady, so—"

"Hey." He kissed her forehead. "It's not gonna be me."

"You don't know that. They give you all the scut shit to do and I know you don't watch out for yourself—"

"I watch out for myself fine."

"Oh, bullshit. I know better than that. You've had some bizarre death wish ever since that shit went down with Miles."

"That was—" He broke off and ducked his head. His jaw worked. "I'm still strugglin' with it, Liv."

"I know you are, baby," she said, gently. "I don't expect you to just get over it, but you've got to be more careful, Juice. Promise me. I can't—I can't even think about if something were to happen to you."

"Nothing's gonna happen. I promise."

She glowered but decided to accept it. She ran a hand down her face and shook her head. "You know Opie was the first friend I made here. You and I were"—she huffed out a chuckle—"either making out or fighting every time we saw each other. Chibs was always cool, and he and I might be closer now since I think Lyla might've gotten me in the separation, but—yeah. He used to come into the garage and just sit there."

"And do what?" he said, his face scrunching.

She hitched a shoulder. "Work, sometimes. Tinker with something or paint. But usually nothing. Just watch me work. Offer an opinion every now and then. I don't know. It sounds weird, I guess, but…we never had to say much. I liked that."

She swiped the heel of her hand across her cheek. "I hate this place sometimes, Juicy. I know it's your home, and I know they're your family, but—"

"I know," he said.

When she looked up at him her eyes were big and impossibly sad. "What do we do now? Do we just keep on going? Pretend nothing's changed? Pretend that this place isn't killing us all off one by one?"

"I don't know." He took her face in his hands and kissed her. "All I know is I love you, Olivia. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner. I'm sorry it took something like this for me to nut up. I just—I need you to know."

"You think I didn't know?" she said, her voice soft and just a little teasing.

"Sometimes it's nice to hear."

"True." Her brow furrowed and she traced the lines of his face with soft fingers. "I love you too, Juicy. In case you were wondering."

A grin wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes unfurled beneath her touch. "I know you do. You've been crazy about me since day one."

"Is that so?"

"Yup. Head over heels. Heart eyes and the whole thing."

"Watch it, Ortiz. Just because I'm sad doesn't mean I can't kick your ass."

"Promises, promises."

She choked on a laugh. Their lips met and she melted against him. He gathered her close and brushed her hair back. They were quiet for a long time, and the lot outside was eerily empty. The place had shut down in honor of its fallen son.

She stirred. "Do you think you'd have time to take me home? Could Clay spare you?"

"Yeah, of course," he said with a frown. "Don't you wanna be here for the thing tonight?"

"I just need to pick something up. And grab a change of clothes." She was dressed for work, and she'd already been inappropriately attired for one major occasion this month; she wasn't going to let it happen again.

He huffed out a breath. "Liv—"

"It's _important_, Juice," she said. "It's a sign of respect. And, honestly, I don't want a lecture on my sartorial choices from someone who belongs to a group that dictates literally every stitch of clothing he wears."

He didn't really have an argument for that, so he just acknowledged the truth of it with a tilt of his head. "You ready to go now?" he said.

"No. Let's stay here a little longer."

"Works for me," he said. She curled up against his side and he toyed with the trailing end of her braid.

"We're gonna be okay, Liv," he said at last. "You and me."

She hesitated. Then, "You and me, Juicy," she murmured into his chest. "Nothing else matters."

She said the words, and they were a comfort, but some part of her doubted whether any of them could possibly be okay again.

* * *

By the time Juice and Olivia arrived back at TM the wake was in full swing. The lot was packed and the clubhouse overflowing. She fought her way through the crowd and caught Lyla just as she turned away from a conversation with Jax.

The blonde stopped short at the side of her, and for a second her expression was stoic. Then her face fell and she threw herself at Olivia.

"I can't believe this's really happening, Ollie," she said through her tears.

"I know, sweetheart. I can't either."

"He came to see me the day he went in. He gave me a bunch of money and asked me to keep the kids for a few weeks. That was the last time I saw him, and now he's—" She broke off with a curse. "We had problems, you know? But I never stopped loving him."

"He loved you too, Lyla. He just—too much had been taken from him. There wasn't enough of him left."

She sniffled and wiped her cheeks with a tissue. "Everyone's being so nice to me."

"Of course they are. You're Opie's old lady, and even if you weren't, everybody here loves you."

That set off a fresh storm of tears and Olivia embraced her again.

The were still locked together when Gemma appeared. She cleared her throat. "All right, break it up. It's a wake not an orgy."

That brought watery smiles all around. Gemma wrapped her arms around Lyla and squeezed. "How you doin', baby?" she said.

"Not great," Lyla admitted. "I'm still in shock, I think."

"We all are," Olivia said.

Gemma hugged her next, and Olivia could tell she'd been crying. Opie had been like a second son to her, and despite her carefully applied makeup, grief was evident in the lines of her face.

"I thought you would've been here sooner," Gemma said to her.

"I had to run home for something." She fished a photograph out of her jacket pocket and offered it to Lyla. "Remember that?"

She laughed and pressed a hand to her mouth. It was a picture of Opie. He had the fat beam that was to become Olivia's mantel over one shoulder and he was grinning. The afternoon sun glinted off the gold in his mouth. He looked…happy. Content, even.

"You remember when he offered you twenty bucks to pick out a new mantel? He said he'd pay for it _and_ give you the twenty just for your trouble."

"He hated that thing," Olivia said. "It looks amazing, though, thanks to all of his hard work. I never would've gotten the place done without him."

"Dammit, Ollie," Gemma said. "You're gonna make me cry all over again."

Just then Tara broke off from Jax' side and joined them in the chapel doorway. More hugs were exchanged, more tears, and Olivia excused herself to pay her respects.

They had him laid out in state on the table. She closed her eyes a moment as a wave of dizziness washed over her. It shouldn't have been him. He deserved better. He deserved some peace and some happiness and a chance to rebuild his life. She didn't think it was possible to accomplish any of those things in Charming, California. Opie's fate was what awaited all of them in this dangerous, fucked-up world of drug cartels and gun running. What a fool she'd been to believe otherwise.

She propped the photo against his shoulder. That had been a good day. Chibs and Kozik had manned the grill while a pregnant and grumpy Tara complained because they wouldn't let her do anything. Gemma had brought pie and cookies and played with Abel in the backyard under the big water oak. Lyla and Olivia painted the kitchen and the guys helped move the appliances in and ultimately Opie had gotten the mantel beam into place. _Idilic_. That was the word that came to mind.

But the missing faces told the story. Jax, Tig, Juice, Happy, Clay, and Bobby all in prison for shooting up a church. That day was one of the happiest memories she had of her entire time in Charming, and she couldn't think of it without also thinking of how fucking fleeting it all was, and how even the brightest day was just a bandage, a temporary stopgap against the darkness that lurked under everything here.

One of the rockiest times in their friendship had happened when Opie found out about Lyla's abortion. He had raged at Olivia about it, and about the birth control pills, and Olivia, furious at his presumption, had told him she had been the one to take Lyla to the clinic (Tara had been there, too, but she left her name out of it.). She thought he might explode from rage.

_She killed my kid, Ollie! And you helped her!_ he'd said.

_Her body, her choice, Opie. Did you even ask her if she wants more kids? Did that occur to you? Or were you too busy trying to dictate how she should live her life?_

He'd stormed out and they hadn't spoken for almost two weeks. They'd only recently made up, as a matter of fact; just before things really started to heat up with the cartel. Before he found his father's body and shot Clay.

She was glad they had parted friends. She was glad he'd come to see her that last morning and they'd talked, even if she'd given him advice that she now regretted.

Except, she thought, if it hadn't been Opie it would've been one of the other guys. Jax or Tig or Chibs. Jax, most likely. And how would Opie have lived with that? His wife. His father. His best friend. And the constant thought that if he had been there he could've done—well. Exactly what he _had_ done. He had been so lost. One more blow would have finished him as surely as that goddamn pipe to the head.

"I hope you find what you're looking for, _mon ami_," she murmured. Suddenly overcome, she turned away with a jerk and nearly collided with a crow eater. She mumbled an apology and shoved back out to the main room. It was so crowded. Everyone offered kind words and hugs and fortifying shoulder squeezes. She knew they weren't really for her. Everyone was mourning and they all drew comfort from each other, but if one more person touched her she might scream.

She burst through the office door in a blind panic only to stop short. Nero and Jax were there, clearly deep in conversation about something. "Oh!" she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"It's okay," Nero said. "I think we were done here. Yeah, Jax?"

"Yep. Thanks for your time, homes."

The two men exchanged a handshake, and as Nero moved past her he looked for a moment like he might pat her arm. Something in her face stopped him. He offered a nod of weary recognition instead and slipped out the door.

She took a long, shaky breath and let it out. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I just had to get away from—" She waved a hand back the way she'd come. "All that."

"It's fine," he said. "I kinda wanted to talk to you anyway."

His tone gave her pause. "Is this really the time, Jackson?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "If not now, when?"

She sighed and stepped further into the room. "I assume Bobby and Chibs filled you in on the situation."

He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. "Yep," he said and blew out a stream of smoke.

"Okay, then. What else do you need?"

"You really got no idea why this guy would redo your deal?"

She was so sick of answering the same fucking questions five hundred times. "No, Jackson, I don't. He didn't strike me as the type of man who usually explains himself. He just acts."

"Hhmm." He flicked some ash and studied her. "He still got Otto."

"I don't know anything about Otto," she said. "He didn't mention it."

"Tara's gonna see if she can get close to him. Try to convince him to recant or some shit."

Her eyes narrowed. "You would use literally anyone to get what you want, wouldn't you?"

He straightened, ground out the cigarette in an ashtray, and strode toward her. "Tara cares about this club, Ollie. She understands how important it is to this town."

"To the town, Jax, or to you?"

"Both."

"Okay. As long as we're being honest." She lifted a brow and crossed her arms. "I did my part. I upheld my end. The club's still safe from RICO and no one got ratted out. Are you going to come through with _your_ end?"

"I haven't moved on Juice or taken it to the table."

"Yet."

"As long as he doesn't fuck up again I won't."

"And what about him earning his way back in?"

"I'm workin' on that. An opportunity hasn't really presented itself yet."

She moved closer and lowered her voice. "I don't know what's going on right now, Jax, and frankly I don't want to. But is Opie's death part of some larger beef? Is everyone in danger? Those home invasions—"

"Ope and the home invasions ain't related. At least I don't think so. Unser doesn't think so." He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I got some things goin' to get us out of drugs and guns and to get us square with Pope. You heard about all that?"

"Juice told me what he knows."

"You familiar at all with this guy?"

"I'm relatively new to California," she said with a frown.

"Uh huh. But not new to guys like him."

She glanced away. Back. "I've heard the name."

"Then you got some idea what we're up against."

"What he did to Tig's daughter—"

"Fuckin' savage," he spat.

She shrugged a shoulder. "Typical, honestly. Gotta send that message."

He eyed her warily. "It seems like you should be more rattled by all this."

"Rattled?" She choked out a dry chuckle. "Baby, my knuckles are white. I've just had thirteen years to practice my poker face." She cast a look toward the door. "We should get back, Jax. They'll be wondering where you are."

"Ollie," he said.

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "Jax."

He tried to speak and had to stop to clear his throat before he could go on. "Ope told me—right after we had the vote to send you to Potter, we talked about it. He said you were a real friend to him and Lyla while we were all inside."

Her face contorted and she was glad he couldn't see. "He and Lyla were real friends to me," she said, quietly.

"I just wanted to thank you. You did good by him. It matters."

She bowed her head. "Just keep your promises, Jax. That's all the thanks I want. Take care of Juice. End this cartel bullshit. Settle the beef with Pope."

"You make it sound easy."

"No," she said, meeting his eyes over her shoulder. "I know it's not. I just think that in the wake of your best friend's sacrifice, you should be thinking less about revenge and more about keeping what you have."

"Says the woman who fucked up her chance at a clean getaway so she could shoot her husband."

"Says the woman," she said and rounded on him, "who understands better than most that there's a time and a place for revenge, and when your back's against the wall that _isn't it_."

"Whose back's against the wall? I got plenty of room."

"Right," she said. She huffed out a breath and shook her head. "You know who you sound like, don't you?" His brows drew together in a question and she flicked her fingers. "Clay Morrow, Jackson. You sound like your stepfather. And look where he is now."

* * *

Jax had told Bobby not to confront Romeo and Luis about Olivia's new deal until after they were out of jail. The meeting had been put on hold again because of Opie's service, but now, with his best friend in the ground and his club on the line, he and Bobby went to meet with the cartel bosses-cum-CIA agents.

They got to the meet first, and after they dismounted and lit some cigarettes Bobby fixed Jax with one of those probing looks that left him feeling like a dumb kid with skinned knees.

"What, Bobby?" he said. "Spit it out."

He released a long stream of smoke. "You really think after buildin' that case against us, after pullin' all those strings to get Otto to talk, that US Attorney would just let Ollie go outta the goodness of his heart?"

Jax gave a restless shrug. His eyes were trained on some point in the far distance. "I don't know, man. Seems unlikely."

"We got these assholes threatenin' us with RICO right and left. So what the fuck? Either we're protected or we're not."

He waved a hand. "Hence this meeting. Look, the bottom line is this: do you trust her?"

Bobby mulled it over for a time. "She hadn't really given us any reason not to."

Jax grunted. "Ringing endorsement."

He huffed in agreement. "Let's say I do, though. Let's say I think she's a decent kid who's had a lot of bad shit happen to her and I don't think she's out to fuck us over."

"Okay," Jax said. "Let's say I mostly agree with that."

Bobby cut his eyes over but let it go. "So then the question becomes do we trust US Attorney Lincoln Potter."

Jax flicked his cigarette away and blew out the last of the smoke. "Absolutely fucking not."

"So what do we do about these motherfuckers?" Bobby said and jerked his chin toward the black SUV that had just rolled into view over the hill.

"Fuck if I know. They could lie to us like anybody else, I guess. How are we supposed to know if a deal's legit or not?"

"There's gotta be an eight hundred number or something."

"One Eight Hundred Fuck the Police," Jax said with a grimace.

Bobby acknowledged that with a guffaw and fell in line behind Jax as they ambled toward the SUV. The doors opened and Luis and Romeo climbed out. They met halfway between the bikes and the car. Jax lit another cigarette.

"Glad to see your problem cleared up," Romeo said. "Sorry to hear about your man."

"Sorry." Jax snorted and looked away. "Fuck you and your apology. If you'd give us the help I asked for with Pope, he wouldn't be dead right now."

He raised his hands. "I did what I could, Jackson. You need to keep your people closer."

Jax clenched his jaw and swallowed the burning knot of fury that rose in his throat. "Whatever. That's not why I called this meeting." He met Romeo's eyes and smiled, a hard baring of teeth. "I thought I should tell you face to face that we're out. We're done with the drugs, and as soon as I get things square with the Irish we'll be done with the guns."

Romeo and Luis shared a long look. Something like amusement passed over Romeo's face. "I think I must've misheard. You can't be _out_. Have you forgotten about RICO?"

He took a long drag on his cigarette. "RICO's dead, amigo. We got a deal."

Another glance between the two agents, and this time they definitely looked tickled as all fuck about something. "You mean this deal?" Romeo said.

Luis pulled a folded document out of his jacket pocket and flattened it. He displayed it for them to read. Jax could clearly see Olivia's name printed at the top: _Audra Munro Flanary, née Audra Jameson Munro_. The date was the day they'd taken her into custody, but she'd said Potter had backdated it.

"Yeah," Jax said, suddenly unsure. "That's the one. Our girl says it protects us from RICO. You say she's lyin'?"

Romeo shrugged. "I don't know about that. Never met the girl." A lighter appeared in his hand. He flicked it open.

Jax and Bobby exchanged nervous looks.

"What the fuck, Romeo?" Jax said. "You can't keep holdin' this RICO bullshit over our heads. We're out. It's done."

He made a long, thoughtful noise and struck a flame. He smiled at Jax, all threat and no humor, and touched the flame to the corner of the paper. It burned fast, stoked by the wind, and Luis dropped it when just a scrap was left and stamped it out.

"What the _fuck_?!" Jax roared. "You can't do shit like that! She made a _deal_!"

"That deal was bullshit, Jackson," Luis said. "Not worth the paper it was written on."

"Your man Potter didn't get what he wanted out of that raid. Not a single arrest was made. Deal's null and void," Romeo said.

"He didn't have authorization to do it in the first place. Full exemption from RICO for one little tip on a guns deal?" Luis snorted. "Fuck that."

"So as you can see, Jackson, I think we're still very much in business." Romeo didn't wait for an answer. He nodded, grinned, and started back for the car. "We'll be in touch," he said without a backwards glance.

The doors slammed behind them and the SUV roared off in a cloud of dust. Jax and Bobby stared after it with near-identical expressions of stunned disbelief.

"The fuck, man?" Bobby said.

"Call Ollie," Jax growled. "Tell her we need to have a chat."

* * *

_I took a break to (obviously) finish this chapter, and also to write ch23. While I was working on it I realized that my main block is coming from s5 itself. Like, I know a LOT of what I'm going to do in s6, and even a little of what I'm going to do beyond that, but s5 is just a tangled bag of nonsense (tbh our friend Lincoln Potter would say this show descended into bathos somewhere mid-s4)._

_Anyway. The upshot is I'm making some drastic changes to s5. Some of the biggest plot beats will still be the same, but others...won't. That'll be a lot more evident in ch24+._

_Also. Sometimes I look at the relationship between Juice and Olivia and think, "WHOA this is all moving way too fast!" Then I recall that we're actually something like 30 months into her tenure at Teller-Morrow, and they've basically been dancin' around each other the entire time. That puts it into perspective a little._


	23. Metal and Steel

And to the lovelies who review regularly, thank you! It really does warm my heart and keep me going. :)

* * *

**i'll be silver and i'll be gold**  
**without a heart without even a soul, i'll be coal**  
**i won't be blood and teeth and skin**  
**and i won't feel the pain i'm in**  
**i'll be tin, no heart within**  
Bob Schneider, "Metal and Steel"

Olivia was at home when she took the call. The garage was closed for the day, and she _still_ didn't have her car, so she'd been cleaning and trying to read for most of the morning. She had decided to work in the yard for a bit when her phone rang.

Bobby didn't sound happy, and something about his voice made her nervous. He had ordered her (that was the only word for it) to stay where she was. He and Jax were on their way. She told him she wasn't going anywhere and hung up. She stared at the phone for a long time and debated calling someone.

Juice? No. Pointless. He wouldn't know what was going on any more than she did, and seeing him here might just piss Jax off.

Chibs? Possible. But he was Jax' Sergeant-at-Arms, and he would be loyal to Jax and the club before anyone else.

She set the phone down with a sigh. There was no one. They were her friends. They might even love her. But, bottom line, everyone she knew in Charming had a stake in SAMCRO, and any of them would choose the club over her if it came down to it. She frowned. Well. There was one person, but if Jax and Bobby showed up and found a cop in her house they really would flip their shit.

She dialed his number anyway. When he answered she hesitated so long that he repeated his greeting and asked if anyone was there.

"Eli!" she said. "Sorry. I—my phone cut out for a sec. This's Olivia. Gable."

"Olivia," he said, his voice turning wary. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know. Car-less. Still."

"Ahh." He laughed a little. "I'm workin' on it. By the end of the week, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that. And if anything's happened to him—"

"Your car's fine, Olivia." A pause. "Is that really why you're calling?"

She rose and paced to the window. What could she say? She had no idea why Jax and Bobby wanted to talk to her, and for all she knew it could be something completely innocent. Or something about the garage. Or, fuck, they wanted her to build them an ark. One could never tell the ideas that would occur to Jackson Teller.

"Of course," she finally said. "That car is my baby."

He made a low, skeptical noise. "You need a ride somewhere? I can send one of my deputies by—"

"The San Joaquin County Sheriff's Department is a taxi service now?"

"Olivia—"

"Eli. I'm fine. Your concern is duly noted."

"You hear about these home invasions?"

"Yup," she said. "It's all the buzz around TM."

"You live pretty far out. Not a lot of neighbors."

"I've got good locks. Don't worry about me."

"Locks. Right." She heard him sigh. "Take care of yourself, Olivia. Call me if you need anything. I'll have your car for you by Friday."

"Thanks, Eli. I appreciate it."

They rung off and she tucked the phone into her back pocket. She knew she hadn't fooled him, but there wasn't really anything he could do if she refused his help. It was good to know he'd meant what he'd said the night he dropped her off, though. It was a fucked up world, she reflected, when the only person she could trust to be completely on her side was a goddamn _cop_.

She shook her head and wandered toward the bedroom to change into something presentable. She didn't really want to have whatever conversation she was about to have in her gardening clothes. She chose a pair of high-wasted skinny jeans that she cuffed to ankle length and a blue and white checked, short sleeve button up with a deep V. She tied the shirt to a length that just skimmed the top of the jeans and gathered her loose hair up in a blue snood. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted crimson. She added a bit of lipstick to match and carefully winged eyeliner that made her bright green eyes look more catlike than ever.

If Jax and Bobby meant her harm, she would use every weapon in her arsenal against them. Easier to put a bullet in the head of the scruffy mechanic with the steel toed boots than to shoot the pretty girl with the big eyes.

She heard the sound of approaching motorcycles and smoothed her hands over her thighs. Took a deep, fortifying breath and went to the door to greet them. They took their time about dismounting and getting rid of their helmets. She crossed her arms under her breasts and summoned up a smile for them as they approached.

"Hey, boys," she said. "Come on in. Leave your boots, guns, and cuts out here on the porch, please."

Jax and Bobby looked at one another.

"I think we'd rather keep 'em on, Ollie," Bobby said.

She lifted a brow. "Be that as it may, this is my home. I don't like my floors scuffed by heavy boots, and I don't really think you're going to need your guns. Do you?"

They didn't answer.

"And as for your cuts, well. I already know who you are. No need to show off for me." She turned her back on them and sauntered into the living room.

Jax shrugged at Bobby and dropped onto the bench to pull off his shoes. "Her place her rules," he muttered.

Bobby scowled but followed the younger man's lead. He wasn't entirely sure how intimidating they'd be in their sock feet, but whatever. Even if they didn't like what she had to say it wasn't like they were gonna shoot her right here.

Jax left his weapon on the table but he didn't remove his cut. They were here on club business. He wanted to make sure she didn't think this was a social call.

Her gaze was steady as they trooped into the living room to join her, and though her mouth quirked she didn't comment on their leathers. She didn't offer them a seat, either. She had no illusions about what sort of visit this was, even if she didn't have any idea what had prompted it.

The space was small, and it felt crowded by the big men and their glowers. She shifted restlessly and tried to relax.

"So, gentlemen. What brings you by?"

"We gotta talk, Ollie," Jax said.

"I gathered that much."

"It's about the deal you and Potter made," Bobby said. "The new one. Tell us again what happened. Everything he said."

Her brow creased. "I don't understand. We went over all this."

"I wanna go over it again," Jax said, his voice hard.

"Um. Yeah, okay." She brushed an imaginary strand of hair off her forehead and tried to think back. "We made the initial deal the day I called him with the info about the meet. That one had immunity from RICO for the club and, for me, immunity from TJ's murder. In exchange I was giving them what I knew about the guns meet and anything I had on Mick Doyle."

"Complete immunity from RICO?" Bobby said. "Even with Otto's statement?"

"I already told you I don't know anything about Otto. He stopped mentioning Otto the moment I said I'd talk."

"Okay," Jax said. "Go on."

She drew in a breath. "I didn't see him again for almost two days. Finally he came strolling into my cell acting all…I don't know. Quiet and weird. I figured he was upset because the raid went wrong, but to be honest I was surprised to see him breathing."

"He tell you what went wrong with the raid?" Bobby said.

"No," she said with a scowl. "I already told you that." She waved a hand. "He gave me back everything I'd given him about Doyle and offered a new deal: immunity from RICO for the club. Immunity from TJ for me. In exchange all he wanted was the information about the meet that I'd already given him. He had it backdated for the day they brought me in."

"He tell you why he was offering you an out?" Jax said.

"I told you I have no idea. He just said he thought I should be allowed to choose for myself. He said I shouldn't have to give up everything to keep my people safe." She shrugged a shoulder. "This guy was weird. You've got no idea. Ask Roosevelt sometime."

"But you signed the deal," Jax said. "The new one."

"_Yes_! Guys, what is this about? Do you need me to tell everyone, like at church or something? I can do that if you want."

"Roosevelt know about this new deal?" Jax said.

"I don't know," she said. "I would assume so. He wasn't in the room, but he was there as soon as Potter left and he didn't ask me a bunch of questions." She crossed her arms and her face hardened. "I've told you everything there is to tell. Now maybe you can answer _my_ question."

Jax scrubbed both hands over his face and spun away. When he turned back his expression was wary and oddly haunted. "We've got a problem, Olivia. You're tellin' me this deal was legit?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her concerned gaze bounced back and forth between Jax and Bobby. "I have no reason to think otherwise."

They shared a look. Bobby's brows flicked upward and Jax shrugged a little.

"We got reason to believe that may not be the case," Bobby said at last.

She blinked. "I don't understand. What are you talking about? Who…?"

"The raid didn't go down because Romeo stopped it."

There was a pause.

"Romeo stopped it. The cartel guy just…stopped a DEA raid. How the fuck—"

"He's undercover CIA, Ollie," Bobby said.

She held out a hand. Disbelief contorted her face. "You're fucking with me right now."

"We fuck you not," Jax said. "Romeo and his partner Luis are workin' to take down the Galindo cartel from the inside. They told us we've gotta keep the drugs and guns flowing or they'll move on RICO."

"Otto's their in, I'm guessing."

"Yep," Bobby said. "We're workin' on that, but who knows if he'll recant or not."

Olivia shook her head, still uncomprehending. "But the deal—"

"The deal's bullshit, Ollie," Jax said. "We just came from a meet with Romeo and Luis and they set the fuckin' thing on fire. Said it wasn't worth the paper it's printed on."

The color drained from her face and freckles stood out like sparks against her parchment skin. "No. No. That can't be—Potter said. He said—"

"Fuck Lincoln Potter," Jax said. "It's all bullshit. Every single thing you've told us is a fucking lie. You a mole now, Ollie? That it? They send you back to spy on us? What'd they offer you? WITSEC, I guess. I hope they offered it for Juice, too, because—"

She surged forward, fury written in every line of her petite frame. "You wait just a goddamn minute, Jackson Teller. I'm no fucking rat! I thought that deal was legit!"

"Not a rat, Ollie? You sure were quick to sell out Mick Doyle."

Her eyes narrowed. "His son made my life a literal living hell for six years. I was so desperate to get away I cut my wrist with a fucking steak knife. And then, knowing what it would mean for me, I went back and put three bullets into the sadistic son of a bitch. Teddy's been hunting me like an animal ever since.

"Someone in your club pulls something like that, then we'll talk about rats. In the meantime I don't appreciate your accusations. I had WITSEC for Doyle. Why the fuck would I come back here just to screw you over?"

"People do crazy shit for love."

She snarled. "I fucking well _don't_."

Bobby stepped between them before they could come to blows. "Okay, Ollie, okay. You're saying you took the deal in good faith. So you think Potter was lying to you?"

She fell back and rubbed a hand across her forehead. "I don't know. I really don't. He seemed genuine. Weird, like I said, but sincere. You think the CIA has the pull to nullify something like that?"

"They might not've needed to," Bobby said. "Romeo said that since the raid didn't happen it made the deal moot. They also said Potter didn't even have the authorization to make the fuckin' thing."

"Oh God," she whispered. She pressed a hand to her mouth and seemed to fold in on herself. "Oh my fucking God."

"Whoa, hey!" Bobby reached for her, afraid she might pass out, but she fought off his hold and staggered backwards.

"Ollie, calm down," Jax said. "We believe you, okay? You're not a rat. I was just—"

"I don't give a fuck about that, Jackson!" She sucked in air and gripped the mantel hard enough to hurt. "Don't you get it? If the deal's off, I'm not safe from TJ's murder. I confessed to a cop and a US Attorney. I signed my name to a piece of paper that said I was immune from prosecution for it. That's as good as a fucking signed confession."

"Come on, Olivia," Bobby said. "Roosevelt's not gonna run you up on this."

"Fuck Roosevelt! My name is in the system now. He doesn't have to run me up on anything." She shook her head and dashed a tear off her cheek. "Without that deal the Atlanta PD can come straight to my door, Teddy Flanary hot on their heels." She laughed, wild and jagged. "Start digging, boys. I'm as good as dead."

* * *

It was a consequence neither Jax nor Bobby had thought of. They were concerned about RICO and the club, but as Olivia descended further into hysterics they realized she was right. Jax gave up trying to calm her down when she started to pack. He sighed and called his mother. If Gemma couldn't talk some sense into her then no one could. He sent Bobby back to the compound to brief Chibs on the new development and took up sentry duty in the doorway of Olivia's bedroom. He leaned against the jamb and watched her throw clothes in a bag like a tornado of panic.

"Ollie, come on. You're just gonna have to unpack again. You don't even have your car yet. Come back into the kitchen and have a cup of tea."

She ignored him. "Seven years, Jax. I've been on the run _seven years_, and somehow it all managed to go to hell in less than a month."

"You've still got that info on Doyle, right? Take that in. Offer it in exchange for immunity, like before. Don't worry about the club. Tara's workin' on Otto, and—"

"Oh no. I'm done trusting cops and lawyers and the motherfucking criminal justice system." She tossed a pair of shoes across the room and he ducked as they came perilously close to his head.

The doorbell rang and he couldn't remember ever having been more relieved in his life.

"Who—?"

"I called Gemma."

She rolled her eyes. "Goddammit, Jackson, I don't need to be _managed_. I just need to get the hell out of here." She pushed past him, and by the time she got to the living room Gemma was already inside.

"Don't even start," Olivia said. "There's nothing to talk about."

She kicked off her boots and crossed her arms. "Oh really? My son tells me you're plannin' a road trip."

She jerked her head toward the bedroom and Gemma followed her. Jax grimaced at his mother and she smiled and patted him on the arm. "Go on back to the clubhouse, baby. I got this."

He didn't have to be told twice. He grabbed his gun, shoved his feet into his shoes, and fled without a backwards glance.

"Unless you're here to help me pack," Olivia said as the sound of his engine faded, "I don't have time for an intervention."

Gemma picked up the shoes she'd thrown and tucked them into one of the suitcases. "I'll help you pack if that's what you really want."

Olivia glared at her, suspicious. "I have to go, Gem. I put my name down on paper. There's nothing to stop the cops from beating down my door right the fuck now. Or, you know, Teddy skipping the middleman and just coming for me himself."

Gemma shrugged and wandered to the vanity. She rifled through the contents of the half-packed toiletry kit and added a few things from the table: a tube of lipstick. Some mascara. The liquid eyeliner Olivia had applied less than an hour ago.

"You wanna go, go. It's your life." She sniffed at the contents of an amethyst-colored bottle and frowned. "You wear this?"

"No," Olivia said with a distracted shake of her head. "I mean, every once in a while. I'm not much for perfume."

"Smells good," Gemma said. She set the bottle down. "I'll go grab a box of baggies. You don't wanna pack your shampoo and stuff without some protection."

"I don't think I have any baggies."

"That's a shame. I guess you could buy new shampoo when you get wherever you're going." She pinned Olivia with a hard look. "Where _are_ you going, Ollie?"

She looked away. Her fists tightened around the t-shirt she held. "I don't—I haven't—" Her brow creased. "I'm not sure yet."

"Hhmm." Gemma turned the vanity's chair around and sat. Crossed one leg over the other and picked imaginary lint off her black jeans. "You gonna take the time to tell Juice or just leave him a note? Or were you planning to just hop a bus and hope he'd get the hint?"

Olivia winced. "He'll understand."

"I'm sure he will. He doesn't want you dead any more than the rest of us do. Less, probably." She tapped a dark-tipped nail against her knee. "You've been good for that boy, Ollie. He's…sensitive. More sensitive than's good for him in this life."

"He's a grown man, Gemma. He can take care of himself." Discomfited, she turned away to shove the t-shirt in on top of the shoes Gemma had just packed. Her voice was rough when she spoke again. "Who else, Gem? Anybody else whose life would be irrevocably altered if I skipped town? Because honestly I don't think so. Opie's dead. Chibs has been lookin' at me sideways ever since I came back. Lyla's got the kids. Tara's got Jax. You've got Nero, and even if you didn't—" She broke off with a shrug.

"Don't presume to tell me how I feel, little girl," Gemma said, sharp as the crack of a whip. "You're family to me, Ollie. I know what you tried to do for the club. I know what you meant to Opie. I see how Juice looks at you. You think none of that matters? You think I can just shrug it off like it's nothing and let you walk outta here?"

She stood and closed the gap between them. "I get that you're scared, sweetheart. But you gotta remember that there are people in this town who love you. People who are willing to put themselves on the line for you. It's your choice, baby: you can stay here, with us, and let us protect you, or you can run out into that cold cruel world and try to protect yourself."

Olivia looked up at her with pale cheeks and a trembling chin. "If he finds me I don't know what he'll do, Gem," she whispered. "I'm not all that scared of dying. I'm scared of what's gonna come _before_ the dying."

Her forehead creased and she laid a gentle hand on Olivia's arm. "He finds you, we protect you."

"It's not that simple. He's no amateur. He won't call first. He'll just show up and I could be gone before anyone even has a chance to miss me."

"Sounds like we need to make sure you don't spend much time alone."

Olivia made a face. "Great," she said.

Gemma sighed and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind Olivia's ear. "First thing we need to do is change your name, baby girl. Legally, I mean. He's lookin' for Audra Munro, right?"

"I guess. I've never put this name on anything. Even my car registration isn't technically…mine."

"Tomorrow we'll go talk to Nero. That same judge who married Jax and Tara might be able to help us out. They can seal the records so no one can access them."

"Yeah," she said with a slow nod. "Yeah, I guess…I guess that's a start." She brushed at her eyes and Gemma passed her a tissue.

"It ever bother you, bein' out here all on your own?" she said with a shrewd look.

"Um." She didn't really want to mention that she rarely spent her nights alone anymore. Instead she said, "It's okay. I like the quiet."

"Hhmm. Well, if you change your mind I've got room at my place. I hate the quiet."

"Thank you. I hope I won't have to take you up on that. If I'm staying in Charming I want to stay _here_."

Gemma assessed her for a long moment. Then, "Of course you could always go to Juice's."

Olivia frowned. "Gemma—"

She held up her hands. "I get it. Big secret." Her lips moved in a moue of droll amusement. "You two think you're actually foolin' anybody?"

"That's not the point," she said.

"Oh? Then what is?"

She gave a restless shrug and zipped the half-full suitcase closed. "It's nobody else's business."

"There are advantages to being an old lady, you know."

"No, Gem, there are advantages to being _queen_. Like you were. Like Tara is."

"You still don't get it do you? All this time you've spent around MCs and you're just castin' around in the dark."

"Then explain it to me, Gemma. No, really," she said at her incredulous expression. "I'm listening. Explain to me all the myriad perks and benefits of being an old lady."

She drew in a long breath. "You love that boy, sweetheart?"

Olivia gritted her teeth. "Again: none of your business."

"Right." She drew the word out and eyed her sidelong. "At this point it doesn't matter what I say. If you can't even admit that much out loud, then you don't _deserve_ to be his old lady."

Her mouth fell open. She fumbled for a suitable reply, but for once she was at a complete loss for words. Gemma just watched her, a knowing gleam in her eyes and a smirk curving her mouth.

"That's Juice," she finally managed. For a second Gemma didn't know what she meant, but then she heard it too: a motorcycle. Close and getting closer.

"You can tell that just from the sound?"

Olivia's lips quirked. Apparently it was some sort of magic trick, because so far it hadn't failed to impress. "They're all different if you know what to listen for."

Gemma smoothed her top over her hips and started toward the door. "I'm gonna go then. You might want to stash these bags in the closet or he'll probably have some awkward questions."

"I was planning to tell him what happened," she said as she followed her out.

"Maybe you've got a little more sense than I was giving you credit for."

"Oh please," Olivia said with a roll of her eyes.

Gemma tugged her boots on and eyed Olivia. Held out her arms and gestured the younger woman closer. She hesitated, but after a moment she accepted the hug and even hugged back.

"You're a stubborn little bitch with a bad temper and a foul mouth," Gemma said. "Kinda reminds me of someone else I know."

She was glad Gemma couldn't see her face. She wasn't completely sure she liked the comparison: there were a lot of things to admire about Gemma Teller, but there were also quite a few things Olivia hoped she'd never become.

Gemma pulled away and squeezed her shoulders. "I'll pick you up tomorrow."

"Okay, Gem." She paused and her expression clouded. "Thank you. I mean it."

"It's what we do, baby girl. Don't forget that."

"Yeah," she said. "I'll try to keep it in mind."

The door behind them opened and Juice stopped short. "Oh," he said. "Gemma. Oh, yeah. I thought that was your car. I just—"

"Don't bother," Gemma said and rolled her eyes. "Get in here and take care of your girl, Juicy. You two got a lot to talk about." With that she slipped past him and out the door.

Juice stared after her and turned slowly toward Olivia. "What was that about?"

She drudged up a shaky smile. "Meet me in the kitchen and I'll tell you all about it. I need a drink and some ice cream. It's been one hell of a day."

* * *

_Their relationship is literally the worst kept secret in the history of SAMCRO._


	24. The Cure

I'm just adding this note to keep the format right. Hi, everybody. Good to see you.

* * *

**baby, baby, let me in  
****i need me some of your sweet medicine  
****you got the cure for what is ailin' me  
****and only your sweet love  
****can set me free  
**Bob Schneider, "Medicine"

That night they lay in bed together wrapped in an easy, quiet peace. They were both naked, on their stomachs, and she was lying on his back with her cheek pressed against the flat of his shoulder blade. Her skin was warm on his, her body soft, and he was half-dozing. She traced the lines and curves of his back with light fingers and he shivered.

"Tickles," he said in a sleepy voice.

"Sorry," she murmured and kissed the spot.

"S'okay. It's a nice tickle."

"Yeah?" she said. She danced her fingertips around to his ribcage. "How about here?"

He squirmed and grabbed her hand. "Nuh uh. Bad."

She laughed quietly and pressed her lips to the back of his neck. "Sorry, baby."

"Liar."

Another laugh and she sat up, one leg on either side of him, and rubbed his shoulders. "I bet I can make it up to you."

"Prob'ly," he said. He turned his head to look at her. "But maybe it's just a trick so you can tickle me some more."

Her eyes went wide. "Now would I do that to you?"

She let out a shriek as he flipped over and tackled her into the mattress. He kissed her neck and down the curve of her shoulder and then lifted his chin to grin at her. "I wouldn't put it past you," he said.

She ran a hand over his mohawk. "You can't really blame me, Juicy." Her voice dropped low and her words were laced with honey. "I just love making you whimper and squirm when I'm on top of you."

"Well when you put it like that—" He broke off with a smirk and captured her mouth with his. When he pulled away, though, his face was troubled. She tensed.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head and hitched a shoulder. "Nothing." He went to kiss her again, but she held him off.

"Something. Tell me."

His forehead dropped and he used a fingertip to outline a constellation from the freckles on her chest. She took his hand and laced her fingers through his.

"Tell me," she said again.

He sighed and looked away. When he looked back his jaw was tight and she could see the gleam of tears in his eyes. "You were really just gonna take off? No goodbyes? I'd show up here and you'd just be gone, all your shit packed…and nothing?"

"No, Juicy, I—"

"Olivia. Don't lie to me."

She let out a long sigh and bit her lip. "I was going to call you from the road. I would never—I would never just _go_."

He sat up and slouched forward with his head in his hands. "What would you have said?" His voice was dull and muffled.

"I don't know. I didn't get that far."

His arms fell and he tilted his chin toward her. "Do you love me, Olivia?"

She jerked upright. "Juice—"

"It's a serious question. I know you said it, and I know that was hard for you, but I need to know you meant it."

"I don't say things I don't mean," she whispered.

The muscles danced beneath his skin as he clenched his teeth. "So maybe explain how those two go together. One hand you love me, the other you're ready to take off any second."

"I'm not—" She cut herself off and sucked in a breath. "Let me explain something else to you, Juice. The man who is hunting me, the man who might very well find me thanks to this stupid fucking deal, is not someone you ever want to tangle with. I have no doubt that he would do horrible, unimaginable things to anyone he thinks I care about just to fuck with me. Who in Charming do I care about the most?"

He cut his eyes back at her. "You could've called me."

"While I was waiting for Bobby and Jax I sat down and thought about it. Who could I call? Who could help me? Who in this whole fucked up town cares more about _me_ than about SAMCRO?"

Now he twisted around to stare, his expression incredulous. "Olivia—"

"The only name I could come up with was Eli Roosevelt. I did call him, but only to ask about my car." She hitched a shoulder. "Do you know why I don't want to be an old lady? Yeah, it bothers me that an old lady essentially _belongs_ to her old man. And I hate the whole 'old ladies are different' BS. But the main thing that stops me…?"

She spread her hands. "I know your first loyalty will always be to the club. And, look, I knew that when we started, and it's just something I have to accept. But how are you the one I call when it's the club that's threatening me? How am I going to put you in that position? It's not fair to either of us."

He scowled. "What does fair have to do with anything?"

"I don't know. It's a nice idea, fairness."

He scooted up the bed and settled against the pillow next to her. He was quiet for a long time, and she cast him quick glances from the corner of her eye. Finally, "You know, not long after I moved to Charming I met this girl. Yvonne. She lived up in Stockton. She was…well, she was real pretty. Different than you. Colombian."

She lifted a brow and he hurried on.

"Anyway, we were together over a year. I thought she might be my old lady. I always saw her as, I don't know. That 'love of my life' kinda thing, like in the movies. Even after we broke up I still used to go see her whenever I needed someone to talk to. She was just like that."

"Why are you telling me this?" she said, warily.

He fisted his hands together and stared down at the gold Reaper ring. Normally he took his rings off before bed, but he'd forgotten. He rubbed his thumb over it.

"I loved her. I really did. But as much as I loved her, I never once thought about choosing her over the club. It never woulda crossed my mind. She was a woman. They come and go; even old ladies, and she never was that."

Her brows drew together. "I think you just made my point, Juice."

He looked at her and his dark eyes were hard. "The way I felt about Yvonne is nothing compared to how I feel about you, Olivia. I don't know why. I don't know how things like this happen. I'm just a dumb Puerto Rican from Queens who likes computers and bikes and not havin' to think too much."

He twisted the ring off and dropped it in her palm. "I'd choose you in a second. Every time. Any time."

She stared down at it and then back up at him. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. "I would never ask—"

"I know you wouldn't. Listen to me, Liv, because I'm trying to make this as clear as I can: don't ever think you can't call me. Don't ever think I wouldn't stand up to Jax or anyone else for you. Don't ever think I wouldn't make the same sacrifices for you that you'd make for me."

"The stakes are so much higher for you," she said in a strangled voice.

"Fuck the stakes." He cupped her face. "It's you and me, Liv. I'm yours and you're mine. That's it."

"If something happened to you because of me—"

"Stop." He huffed out a breath. "The first night we met you threatened a man with a switchblade. We escaped a beat down by hiding out in your room and we fucked on the table. And in the bed. And in the shower."

"It was a memorable night." Her mouth quirked. "Though the time in bed was just oral."

"_Just_. Right. Like I could forget," he said with a snort. "I was being general."

"Oh. Forgive me. Please, proceed with your point."

"Smartass."

"Mmhmm."

"Had no idea that could be so sexy."

"I think that's the memories talking."

"Maybe." His gaze drifted down to her mouth. "Thinking about you sucking my dick is pretty distracting."

She took one of his hands away from her face and ran it to down to rest on her hip. "Weren't you in the middle of making a point, Ortiz?"

"Yeah. A point." He blinked and jerked his head to clear it. "I just mean…I knew from the beginning that you weren't exactly typical. That being with you wouldn't be the safe choice."

"You think I'm dangerous?" she said.

"Not like I think you're gonna hurt me. But in your way? Yeah. I wouldn't fuck with you." He paused to brush his fingers over her cheek. "Honestly, if I were this guy I wouldn't come after you at all. After what you did to his kid? I'd take the fuckin' hint and steer clear."

"If we could only be so lucky," she said with a rueful tilt to her mouth.

"Well, you know, maybe we're due."

It was eerily similar to what she'd said to Tara that day in the hospital. And maybe she'd been right. Maybe Juice was right, too. Maybe they _were_ due. "It can't rain all the time," she murmured.

His lips twisted in a brief smile. "You like that movie?"

"It's kind of a classic, isn't it? I mean, in certain circles."

"Yeah. Guess so."

He cleared his throat and his eyes flicked away.

"Olivia," he said, "you know I like spending time with you. I like the way you see things and how you make me better. I like that you're unpredictable and stubborn and that you call me on my bullshit. And, yeah, the sex is fucking amazing." He smiled a little, sheepishly, and shrugged a shoulder. "I don't want to fuck any of that up and I don't want you to think I'm tryin' to put pressure on you. It's not like that. I just—I guess I just need to know this means something."

She took in a long, slow breath. He'd laid a lot on her and she wasn't sure how to process all of it. She squeezed the ring and felt the raised edges dig into her palm. Had she fucked up so badly that he really didn't know how much he meant to her? She wasn't good with words, and if he judged by her actions—well. She'd almost skipped town tonight without so much as leaving a note.

"You don't want to be an old lady, and I guess I get why," he said when the silence stretched on. "You don't want everyone to know that we're a thing. I get that, too. The thing is, Liv, I don't need much. I just need you."

Her eyes closed, briefly. She shifted around until she was in his lap. Leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. "How about we come to an understanding? An understanding that I'm yours and you're mine. An understanding that whatever other fucked up shit comes along, there's still that. That's what matters. Not ridiculous, outmoded titles and public announcements. I'm yours." She kissed him softly. "And you're mine."

She started to pull away, but he caught her face in his hands again. "You really mean that? The other day when you said it—"

"You're what I want, Juice." Her eyes were steady on his, her expression smooth. "_This_ is what I want, and I only want it with you. Like you said, I'm trying to be as clear as I can. Okay?"

He gave a jerky, stuttering nod. "Yeah," he said on a long exhale. "Yeah, okay." He tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck. "Promise me one thing, though."

"Name it," she said.

"Promise you won't do this again, Liv. If you feel like running, call me. Don't try to disappear. If this is gonna work, we have to trust each other."

"I know. I'm sorry. It was fucking stupid, but it's become knee-jerk for me. Shit hits the fan and I run." Her nose scrunched. "It's a habit I'm trying to break."

He took the ring from her and set it on the bedside table. "I love you, Olivia. I want you to stay with me."

"I never wanted to go," she said in a voice gone small.

"Stay with me, babe," he whispered, his lips just brushing hers. "Promise you'll stay."

"I promise, Juicy. I'm not going anywhere." Her mouth was hot against his, her tongue a silken whisper. "I do love you, Juan Carlos," she said on a soft breath.

His eyes crinkled. "You've never called me that before."

"Hhmm." She matched his smile with one her own. "I'm really too white to pull it off, I think."

"A little. Ow!" he said as she bit his neck. "Only a little!"

She licked the spot to soothe it. "Sorry, baby."

"Liar," he said and shifted beneath her. "But it's okay. I kinda liked it."

She rocked into him a little. "I thought you might."

His breath caught. "You keep doing that—"

"And what?" She did it again. "You'll get hard?" She pressed a kiss against his jaw. "Too late, I think."

"I thought we were having a _moment_."

She laughed. "We had one. A moment was had. It was lovely. Now let's have a different sort of moment. A naked, sweaty, _vigorous_ moment. In other words, baby, I'd really like us to fuck each other's brains out, because apparently declarations of love and devotion make me hot as hell."

The sheet was a barrier between them. He fisted a handful of it and yanked. With his other hand he cupped one of her breasts and kneaded it gently. Brushed his palm across the nipple as she shivered. "I guess I should've told you months ago."

She moved her hips in a slow roll. "I think the circumstances have to be right," she said, breathlessly.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said and leaned down to kiss her, but he pulled back at the last minute and tilted his head toward her nightstand. "I've never asked you what's in that drawer down there," he said. "Besides lube, I mean."

"Oh." If she was surprised she didn't show it. She pushed him over a little and tugged it open. "All sorts of things that go well with lube, of course."

"Hum. That's, uh. That's quite a collection." The drawer held several sex toys: a few dildos, a couple of vibrators, and at least one thing (that he could see) that was definitely a butt plug. He grinned at her. "You've been holdin' out on me."

"A girl's gotta have her secrets," she said with a shrug.

He poked through the assortment. "When was the last time you used any of this stuff?"

"Um, well." She pointed to one of the vibrators. It was short, purple, and had a flat tip. "That one gets a nice workout when you've been gone on those cartel runs. What?" she said at his look. "I miss you when you're not around. I really enjoy sex."

He grinned and kissed her. "I know, believe me, and it's one of the things I love about you. I just wish you told me."

"Why's that?" she said, softly.

"Well, just…" He looked away. Shifted his weight and smoothed the sheet across his thigh. "I like to know what you enjoy. I mean. I want to what gets you off. I mean, _really_ gets you off."

She lifted a brow and stroked a hand over his head. "You do a pretty good job of it, Ortiz."

"Well I try…but I can always do better, right?"

The question hung in the air between them for so long he thought he might have to repeat himself. She looked completely taken aback. Her cheeks flooded with color, and her freckles seemed to dance like stars. "No one's ever really asked me that before," she finally said.

"Yeah," he said with a sad smile, "that's kinda what I thought." He met her eyes with such intensity that she had to fight the urge to drop his gaze. "Listen, babe, I like when you take charge not just because I like that sorta thing. I mean, I do. I'm not gonna lie about it.

"But with you it's more than that. I want you to tell me what to do because I want to know that you're enjoying every second of what we do together. I want you to tell me when I can come because it means _you're_ ready. _You've_ come—several times, hopefully—and _then_ I can. Look, no matter what happens, if we're fucking, I'm gonna enjoy it. I know I'm gonna come. That doesn't worry me. I want to know that I'm getting _you_ off."

"I literally have no idea what to say to that." There was a thoughtful pause. She frowned a little. Ran a fingertip along the veins in the back of his hand. Traced over one of his rings like she was trying to read it in Braille. "Honestly, that's pretty much the sexiest thing anyone's ever said to me."

He raised her chin so that he could see her face. "Yeah?"

"You want me to tell you how and when and how many times to make me come because knowing that you're pushing all the right buttons exactly the way I want them pushed is what gets you off. Yeah, Juice. That's sexy as hell."

"But you don't want me to call you _Mistress_, right?"

Her laugh rippled across his skin like warm rain. "That will never be necessary in any aspect of our relationship. So what are your thoughts on the drawer here?"

"Hhhmm," he said. He grabbed the one she'd pointed at earlier. "You used this one while I was on the road?"

"Uh huh," she said. Her voice had gone breathy. "It's, um. It's made for your G-spot."

"Oh. Yeah, you would like that."

He fiddled with the controls a minute until he got it going on the lowest setting. Pushed her gently back onto the bed and stretched out next to her. He kissed her stomach. Ran his tongue around her belly button. He lapped across her nipples. She made a soft noise that turned sharp when he pressed the flat tip of the vibrator against the curls between her legs.

He moved it up and down, then spread her lips with his free hand and trailed his tongue all around them.

She bit back a moan. He grinned up at her. Kissed the inside of her thigh. His stubble was rough on her skin and she wiggled. He brushed his chin back and forth against her just to make her squirm. He used the toy to trace the same path on her pussy that his tongue just had.

"Show me how you like it, Livvie," he said, his voice a hoarse rasp.

She ran her finger along the curve of one of his scalp tattoos. "You want me to show you what I did while you were away?"

"Yeah," he said, choking a little. "Please."

"Well." She flicked the motor off. "I usually start with my hands." She brushed a fingertip against her clit and shuddered. Dipped the same finger inside and spread the slick wetness all over her cunt.

He licked his lips. His eyes slid up to meet hers and she shook her head.

"You said you wanted to see what I did while you were gone." She pressed her wet finger against his lower lip. "I absolutely didn't have that eager mouth of yours, now did I?"

He sucked it in and swirled his tongue around it. "Keep goin', babe," he said.

Her eyes stayed steady on his as she turned the vibrator on again. She bumped the speed up a notch or two, and when she pressed it against her clit he panted. Her mouth fell open in a little _o_. She slid the toy from her clit down to her entrance and back up again.

"Liv—" He cleared his throat and tried again. "Baby, I know I said I wanted to watch, but—"

"But what, sugar?" she said.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip again, and this time he could taste her. He closed his eyes a moment, and when he opened them again she was watching him with a lifted brow. "Let me. Please. I'll use my mouth on your clit and the toy inside you, and I'll lick and suck until you come so fuckin' hard, Livvie."

"Mmmm," she said, a long, low moan. Her head fell back and she let go of the toy.

He caught it before it could fall. "Is that a yes?" he said with a grin.

"Tease me and die, Ortiz," she said, only half-joking.

He let out a laugh and flipped the vibrator around to press it into her. He knew the exact moment he had the right spot because her hips jerked and she gasped hard. "Right there, baby?" he murmured against her slick cunt.

"Uh huh," she managed. "Like that, Juicy. Turn it—turn it up a little."

He moved the setting one higher and she cursed. He smirked a little. She grabbed the back of his head and pressed his face against her, and he responded fervently. He sucked the swollen nub between his lips and worked it with his tongue. She rocked her hips against him, something he took as encouragement, and he ran his tongue down from the top of her slit all the way until he hit the vibrator. He did it again. And again. Until she was writhing beneath him and practically incoherent.

"Fuck, baby," she moaned. "Yeah, Juicy, don't stop God you know exactly—fuck that's so good!" Her voice had gone breathless and high-pitched by the last word, and he knew she was almost there.

He adjusted the rhythm of the vibe and alternated long, hard sucks and short, quick ones on her clit. Her body arched and he felt the muscles in her legs dance against him. He lashed his tongue back and forth, firm and fast.

"Yeah yes that's it oh fuck oh God—!" She trailed off into incoherent whimpers. Her nails dug into his scalp and her hips bucked as the climax took her. He kept the pressure up with the toy but slowly, slowly eased off on her clit. She shuddered and moaned and shuddered again.

He turned his head to kiss the inside of her thigh. "Enough, babe? Or more?"

She absolutely wanted to come again, but not with a vibrator. She turned it off and tugged his hand away. "I'd rather have you," she said.

He set it on the nightstand and kissed his way up her body.

"I guess you weren't lying when you said you miss me when I'm gone," he said.

"Of course not, love." Her head tilted against the pillow and her green eyes sparkled. "I also missed you the night of the big welcome home bash. After what happened on the swings, remember? And before that I missed you after the botched rendezvous in the bathroom—after I got out of jail, that is."

"Hum." He traced his nose against her throat. "Any other times?"

"Oh, plenty. But I don't want to bore you."

His mouth quirked in a half-smile. He looked down at the drawer again. "Have you used all that stuff?" he said.

"At one time or another, yeah."

"Even, uh…" He leaned down and grabbed the plug. "This?"

"Yep," she said, her expression serene.

He swallowed. "On somebody else, or…?"

"Both. I mean, not that particular one. That one only on me. But the idea? Both."

"Huh," he said on a hard exhale.

She took it from him and pulled him down to whisper in his ear: "Maybe if you ask me real, real sweet, I'll use it on you one day." She flicked her tongue against his skin and laughed at the noise he made. "I knew you'd like that idea," she said.

"Didn't really know I did until now."

"Something to file away for another day." She slid her hand down his stomach. "In the meantime…?"

* * *

Olivia almost asked Gemma to take her to TM after they finished up with the judge, but she decided maybe that wasn't a great idea. She was still pretty pissed at Jax for the way he'd acted yesterday—accusing her of being a rat basically just to gauge her reaction—and she wasn't sure she was ready to see him yet.

Gemma tried hard to talk her into dinner. She said Wayne was coming over and she was making pot roast. Olivia was sorely tempted; Gemma's pot roast was no joke; but ultimately she declined. She wanted some time alone. She knew that might not be the best idea right now, but she assured Gemma she'd lock all the doors and keep her eyes and ears peeled for anything suspicious.

And she did. Except she knew Juice would be over later and he didn't have keys to all of her locks. All of her locks didn't even unlock with keys. So while she locked the knob and the deadbolt, she didn't set the police bar or the thumb bolt or the chain. Later she would curse her own stupidity, especially in light of everything that had gone down yesterday.

But she'd been the single most paranoid person on the planet (barring some sort of mental disorder) for the past seven years. Now all she wanted was a bath uninterrupted by the doorbell. She flipped on the porch light and wandered toward the bathroom. She started the water and added a bit of honey bath milk. Stripped off her clothes and slid into the tub.

The tension started to drain away the second she hit the hot water. She ran her fingers over the surface and stirred up a few bubbles.

Things had gone well with the judge. He'd agreed to rush her name change and keep the records sealed. Nero had pulled him aside during his weekly appointment, and surely the environment had added some incentive. She wasn't sure how much Gemma had told Nero. She didn't mind so much, really. She liked him. She liked anyone who put that much effort into transforming himself.

She stayed in the bath until the water grew cool and her skin was pruny. At last she hauled herself out of the tub and pulled the plug. She rubbed a towel over her skin and shrugged into her robe. The tub gurgled as it drained, the water chattered through the old pipes, and to her the sound was like music. When she was a kid Olivia and her mother used to make up silly songs to match household noises: a chant for the dishwasher, a dirge for the dryer; and it was a habit she fell into from time to time. The emptying bathtub got a hopping little ditty that was ridiculous and nonsensical, but it put a smile on her face all the same.

She swiped her knife off the counter and reached for the doorknob. Her fingers froze as she touched it and her body went rigid as she strained to listen. There was a noise in her living room. Boots. Heavy boots on wooden floors.

Not Juice.

Not anyone who knew her and had a key to her house, because anyone who fit that description knew how picky she was about her goddamn floors. She listened hard, and eventually she could make out three distinct sets of feet. One of them had an odd hitch-and-drag, like maybe from a limp. She held her breath and knelt to dig through her pants pockets for her phone.

She dialed 911 and pressed the speaker against her body to muffle the sound. She didn't speak when she heard the operator's voice, and instead opened the cabinet under the sink and shoved the phone in among the toilet paper and extra towels.

So far the footsteps had been confined to the living room/dining room/kitchen area. She figured they hadn't noticed the bathroom light seeping under the door, so she took the chance and flipped it off. She squeezed into the space between the tub and the door; if someone opened it, she'd be hidden behind it. She flicked her blade out and waited.

She heard a hurried, whispered conversation, and then two of them started down the hall.

"Bedroom's back here?" one said.

"Guess so. Should we check these doors?"

"Probably just a closet and the bathroom."

"Still. Bitches keep jewelry in the bathroom sometimes."

"Yeah, check it. I'll hit the bedroom."

Jewelry? What the fuck? Doyle's men wouldn't be after her fucking jewelry. Her eyes closed and her head fell back against the wall. Of course. The home invasions. They'd already hit up a crow eater and Wade. They'd attacked Wayne at Gemma's place. She lived alone, far out on the edge of town, and she was associated with SAMCRO. She was the perfect target, really—especially since without a car in the driveway it looked like no one was home.

She heard the linen closet door close. A second later the bathroom knob turned. She crouched a little and squeezed the grip on her knife. The door opened and light flooded the small space. Her eyes hadn't had a chance to grow adjusted to the dark, luckily, so she wasn't blinded by the sudden brightness.

She waited until he was all the way in and digging through her medicine cabinet before she leapt. She slammed the door shut and landed hard on his back. She didn't use her blade; not yet; but she made sure he felt it against his neck. He wore a ski mask, but she could see that he was white. There was a tattoo on his neck. A star, maybe?

"Who the _fuck_ are you and what are you doing in my house?" she growled into his ear.

He screeched and tried to throw her off, but she held on like a barnacle. Her legs were around his waist and one arm was locked around his neck. He choked and she pressed harder.

Feet pounded in the hall as his two buddies ran to his rescue, but she shifted her weight sideways and they fell against the door. He reached back and grabbed a handful of her hair. She yelped and plunged her knife into his shoulder.

He let out a shriek that could probably be heard three towns over. Her grip loosened and he threw her off. She landed on all fours like a cat and twisted up onto her feet.

Blood dripped down his arm and pattered onto the tile.

"You stabbed me, you fucking bitch!" he cried. He lunged toward her but she ducked and skidded out of the way.

The door burst open and suddenly she had nowhere to run. The bathroom was not big enough for three large men and an escape route.

"The cunt stabbed me!" the first one said.

"Let's get outta here," the biggest one said. He grabbed one of her towels and pressed it against his buddy's shoulder.

"Fuck no! I'm fuckin' bleedin', man."

"He said not to touch her. Come on!"

"Fuck him and fuck her, too. I'm fuckin' bleedin' all over the goddamn place."

He surged toward her and she slashed at him. But she was outnumbered now, and the third guy grabbed her from behind. She kicked and spat and clawed at him, but he had nearly a foot in height and a hundred pounds on her. He squeezed her wrist until she cried out and the knife fell from her numb fingers.

"Not so tough without your sticker, huh, little bitch?"

She snarled but he just laughed.

"Come on, man," the big one said. He sounded nervous. "We hurt her we're fucked. He's already pissed about the other night."

"The other night?" she said. "You mean when you beat up a sick man half your size? Fuck you, you fucking cowards. Give me back my knife and we'll see how you do."

"Shut her up," the big one said. "Shut her up and let's get the fuck outta here."

The one she'd stabbed looked her up and down and leered. Her robe had fallen open in the struggle and it was clear she was naked underneath. She glared back at him, eyes spitting fire, and dared him to touch her.

"Get your tiny little pecker near me, sweetheart, and I'll rip it off," she hissed.

The one holding her shoved her away and stepped backwards. "I'm out, man. We ain't here for no fucking rape."

"Who's talkin' about that? I'm not an animal. I just wanna fuck her up a little. Payback."

"Do it and come the fuck on," the big one said. His voice grew increasingly worried as the minutes ticked by. "Way you were screamin', neighbors might call the cops."

"Sorry, little girl. Ain't got time for romance."

He backhanded her hard enough to send her flying. Her head hit the tub and she slid to the floor in a boneless heap. She thought she heard sharp, panicked voices, but everything was muddled and blurry. The room spun and dissolved and then her world went black.

* * *

_Well that took quite a 180._


	25. The Bad Days

Thanks for the reviews, loves! Happy reading. (I say that sort of ironically.)

* * *

**there are good days**  
**and they come and go and never seem to last**  
**and the bad days**  
**when they come around**  
**always kick the good days' ass into the ground**  
Bob Schneider, "The Way Life is Supposed to Be"

When the call came over the radio Eli immediately recognized Olivia Gable's address. His first thought was a domestic, but he dismissed that quickly. That Ortiz kid was way too hung up on her to lift a hand, and if he did she'd probably cut it off with that (illegal) switchblade she carried. On second thought maybe a domestic wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility.

He was on that side of town anyway, so he radioed in that he was responding. When he asked for more details dispatch didn't have any. Just a 911 call, she said. No further information.

He frowned and flipped on the lights and siren. Olivia had sounded strange on the phone yesterday, like maybe she had something to worry about. He'd done a little digging after they hung up and some things just didn't quite come together the way he might want. First, he couldn't find any paper anywhere on the new deal she'd made with Potter. Second, there were a bunch of weird-ass messages in his inbox from Atlanta asking all sorts of questions. None of them mentioned an arrest; mostly they just seemed concerned with her present whereabouts.

He screeched to a stop in front of her house, and a quick glance showed her front door hanging open. He let out a curse and pulled his piece before he jumped from the car. Three men were halfway down the block, running hard toward an old brown van. He called in a foot pursuit and set off after them.

"Sheriff's department!" he yelled. "Stop where you are!"

One of them glanced back, but they didn't stop. They were at the van, and as the taillights flicked on he caught a glimpse of the license plate. It was obscured by dust and mud, but he thought he could make out the first few letters.

"Three suspects, male, race unknown, fleeing the scene in a brown van, partial license Ida Charlie Zebra. Suspects did not appear to be armed," he barked into the radio. He holstered his weapon and turned back toward the house. Obviously Olivia hadn't been with them, which made him think this was more inline with the recent home invasions than a strike by Mick Doyle.

He let dispatch know he was going inside, and before he mounted the front steps he pulled his gun again. It was possible there had been more of them. Unlikely, but possible.

The house was small, and while he suspected that she normally kept it neat, the intruders had ransacked it. There was blood on the porch, and a trail that led down the hall and into the bathroom. He didn't pause there, but instead surveyed the bedroom and even checked the closets before he came back to it.

He pushed the door open with the barrel of his gun. It drifted partway before it hit something. He flipped on the light.

"Goddammit," he muttered. He stowed his gun and knelt next to her. Her pulse was sluggish and she'd lost a lot of blood from a nasty gash on her forehead. More blood was smeared across the floor, and he thought that was probably from whoever had bled his way down her hall. Her knife was near the toilet, and its blade gave answer to one question: she'd fought back, and hard.

He called for backup, a crime scene team, and an ambulance. She was dressed only in a bathrobe, and it was mostly off. He scowled and pulled it up to cover her. There was a darkening bruise on her face and around one wrist, but he couldn't see any other injuries. He grabbed a towel from the cabinet and pressed it against her forehead. The blood had slowed, but head wounds were always a mess.

"What the hell were you thinkin'? I told you it was dangerous out here," he said. "If you die from this I'm gonna be really fuckin' pissed off. As it is I'm keepin' your car an extra week."

Fury surged through him and he punched the bathtub hard enough to leave his knuckles aching. "Fucking SAMCRO," he said. "Goddamn poisonous sons a'bitches."

* * *

"Yo, boss!"

Eli frowned and turned toward the voice in the hallway. One of his deputies stood there with a scowl on his face. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"Got one of 'em out here. Kickin' up a fuss."

He didn't have to ask one of what. SAMCRO. Of course. "Which one?" he said with a weary sigh.

The deputy swirled his hand around his head. "Stupid mohawk. Tribal shit on his head."

Eli grunted, unsurprised. "Yeah, I'm coming." He flipped his notepad closed and shoved it in his pocket. "Make sure you get shots of the blood trail down the hall," he told the photographer. One last glance back at the bathroom and he followed his deputy out into the yard.

They had Juice cuffed and shoved against a patrol car. He was yelling and kicking, and two deputies were trying to wrestle him into the backseat. Eli hustled over and held up a hand.

"Hang on," he said. "Hang on."

"He took a swing at me," the taller of the two said. "Asshole's outta his mind."

"What the fuck happened here?" Juice yelled at Eli. "Where's Olivia? Get these dickheads off me!"

Eli sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked up his dark gaze was stern. "Calm the fuck down, Ortiz. I'm gonna take these cuffs off and explain what's going on, but you got to promise me you'll _calm_ the fuck _down_."

Juice lurched away from the deputy holding him and gave a stuttering nod. "She's okay, right? Just tell me that."

Eli gestured for them to uncuff him, and the deputy did so reluctantly. "Call your people," he said. "Ambo left here about five minutes ago."

"Ambo? Fuck. Where, Saint Thomas?"

"Yep. Make the call and then one of these guys will escort you inside. Gonna need to ask you a few questions."

"Wait!" Juice said as he turned away. "How bad? Did they…?"

Eli shook his head. "She was unconscious when they took her out. Looks like she hit her head on the tub. That and a busted up wrist…seemed about it." He didn't mention how he'd found her, crumpled on the floor half wrapped in a bathrobe. Despite her state of undress he hadn't seen any obvious signs of sexual assault. The doctors would know more after they examined her, but it was, for now, the one reassurance he could offer.

Eli left him with the glowering deputy. Juice pulled out his phone and stared down at it. Who? Jax? Gemma? He jerked his head and flipped the phone open. Chibs. He'd get the word out and would understand that Juice didn't have the patience for a shit ton of questions.

When he answered Juice didn't waste time with formalities. "Someone broke into Olivia's house. Roosevelt's here. She's on the way to Saint Thomas now."

"What? Wait, slow down. What happened?"

He bit off a sigh. "Olivia was attacked, Chibs. I don't know how bad. He just said she was unconscious and they got her in an ambulance. I gotta stay here a minute, answer some questions I guess, but somebody needs to get down there."

Chibs said something to someone in the room with him and Juice could hear a muffled explosion of curses. "Hang on, Juicy boy. I'm on my way to you. Bobby and Tiggy are headed to the hospital."

"Somebody better call Gemma."

"Aye. Jackie, too. Don't worry, laddie. Go answer the copper's questions so you can get to your girl."

"Yeah. Thanks, Chibs. See you soon." He hung up before the other man could answer and turned to the deputy. "Let's go," he said.

He offered a pair of blue cloth booties and Juice snapped them on over his boots. They stepped inside and he looked around with a growing sense of fury. The assholes had trashed the place. Her books had been knocked off the shelves and lay scattered across the living room floor. The handmade afghan that she kept draped over her sofa was in tatters. The painting above the fireplace hung at a crazy angle and the glass was cracked.

Eli pointed out the blood trail on the floor to make sure Juice didn't step in it.

"Is that hers?" he said, choking a little.

"That? No." He held up an evidence bag with a bloody knife. "Look familiar?"

Juice let out a huff of strained laughter. "So she got one of 'em."

"Would seem so." He paused. "There were three of them. I got here as they were fleeing the scene. Big guys." He passed the evidence bag off to the deputy and waved him away. "That girl does not fuck around."

"Nah," Juice said. "You got that right." He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his cut. "What the fuck happened here? This Doyle's guys?"

"Don't know for sure, but I'm thinking no. A little too unprofessional for his people. And, besides, why would they leave her?"

"So the home invasions then?"

"Yep. Looks like. I was hopin' you could tell me if anything's missing."

"I don't know, man. Place's a mess."

"She have any valuables? Jewelry?"

He shook his head as he thought about it. "No, not really." He frowned. "Yeah, wait, one thing. A gold necklace. A cross. It was her mom's. She never wore it, but she kept it for, you know, the sentimental value. She kept it in a wood jewelry box on her dresser."

"Hhmm," Eli said. He made a note of it on his pad. "Didn't see any jewelry box back there. Walk with me."

They started down the hall, and as they approached the bathroom Eli gestured for the crime tech to close the door. He tried, but Juice noticed the exchange and surged forward only to stop short in the doorway.

"Holy shit," he breathed. "This the guy's blood, too?"

"No," Eli said, his voice somber. "Well, some. But a lot of it's hers." He pointed to the edge of the tub. "Looks like she hit her head there and that's what knocked her out. I don't have to tell you how head wounds bleed."

His face was ashen, his expression stunned. "She was—Jesus Christ, Eli, she was breathin' when they took her out…right?"

"Yeah, man. Like I told you, she was unconscious and she'd lost a lot of blood, but she was breathing." He paused and studied Juice through shrewd eyes. "Listen, Ortiz. If you or your club know anything about these break-ins, now's the time. What they did to Unser was fucked up, but this?" He broke off with an angry shake of his head.

"We've told you everything we know," he said. "Pope says he's not behind it, and after what happened to Ope, Jax says he believes him."

"What do you think?"

"I've never met the man. I don't got a clue."

"But you trust Jax?"

Juice jerked toward him. "You hear about her deal?" he said, seemingly apropos of nothing.

"Her deal? You mean the new one? The one that let her come back here?"

"That's it, yeah."

Eli frowned and looked away. "Something kinda weird about it, if that's what you mean."

"You could say that," Juice said, his voice raw and hard. "It's bogus. Complete bullshit. Potter didn't have the authority to make it."

"Shit," he muttered. "Atlanta's called me four times in the last two days. Guess now I know why."

"You tell them anything?"

"I look stupid to you? They just keep leavin' messages."

"They might send somebody. Eventually. If you don't talk to them."

"Yeah," he said with a grim nod. "Fuck. I'll do what I can, but she did the murder. Nothin' can change that."

"You know why she did it, Eli. She told me she showed you X-rays."

He scowled but said nothing.

Juice cut a look over and his voice turned thoughtful. "She's a lot mellower now than when she first got here. I mean, back then she flipped out if anyone came up behind her. Loud noises made her jump. She's a mechanic and the sound of a car backfiring nearly gave her a fuckin' stroke."

He hitched a shoulder and met the Sheriff's eyes with a long, meaningful look. "I know what you think about SAMCRO, and you're probably right about some shit. But the fact is she's a hell of a lot better now than she was two and a half years ago, and that's because of this club.

"Maybe she did kill her husband, but I think you've been a cop long enough and seen enough shit to know he deserved it. You let them get their hands on her and she's dead. That'll be on you."

Eli's expression hardened and he pressed in closer, crowding Juice and herding him against the doorjamb. "SAMCRO's been _good_ for her? You seriously tryin' to sell me on that bullshit, Ortiz? Look the fuck around, man. The blood in this bathroom? That's on _your_ hands. Yours and your club's. Because without you, none of this shit would've happened."

* * *

She opened her eyes and immediately screwed them shut again as the light speared in like daggers. Then she winced because the actual act of shutting her eyes that hard created a ripple of pain through her skull that was like the banging of a gong.

"Fuck me," she muttered.

At the sound of her voice Juice sat up like he'd been shocked. She hadn't even noticed him dozing in the chair by the bed, and when she tried to turn her head to look at him, the pain (accompanied by general spininess and the urge to vomit) spiked again.

"Whoa, don't, just lie still," he said. He leaned over the bed and she raised a shaking hand to touch his cheek.

"You look like shit, Ortiz," she croaked. There were dark circles under his eyes and scruff across his chin. His eyes were red and his face was haggard.

He didn't comment on her appearance. Just Olivia, awake and talking, was probably the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen, but objectively she looked like a train wreck. Her face was a mass of bruises, and where it wasn't mottled blue and purple, her skin was whiter than the pillow case she rested against. He wanted to kiss her, just to reassure himself he wasn't dreaming, but he didn't know where. She seemed incredibly fragile, and for once he was aware of how small she was.

He didn't say any of that, though, and instead grinned and gingerly captured her fingers in his. "Thanks, babe. Good to see you too." He poured some water from the pitcher on the bedside table and held the cup as she sipped from the straw.

She swallowed through a sandpaper throat and almost cried at how good the liquid felt as it flooded her parched mouth. She sat back and tried to take stock of where it hurt. Everywhere. Her body was one giant ache. There was a cast around her right wrist and a bandage wrapped around her head. She could only see out of one eye; the other was blurry and shadowed.

"What happened?" she said.

"You don't remember?"

She started to shake her head and then caught herself. "Maybe…a little? I don't know. It's all fuzzy."

"The doctor said it might be for a while, but some of it might come back." He cast a frown over his shoulder. "I'm supposed to get a nurse. They said to come get them when you woke up."

"Wait," she said as he started away. "Juice, how long was I out?"

He hesitated. "Not long, really, but they were worried about…I don't know. Your brain and injuries and shit, so they knocked you out so you could heal some."

Her good eye widened and she winced. "They put me in a coma?"

"No, not that bad. Just some drugs. You weren't on one of those breathing machines or anything like that." He leaned closer and his voice dropped. "They used leaches on your eye. It was fuckin' gross."

Her mouth quirked a little. "Been there. Glad I slept through it this time."

His brows drew together. "Wait…what?"

She flicked her fingers. "Lots of black eyes."

He glowered and looked away. "Right," he bit out. Then, "I should go get the nurse."

"Don't. Not yet. Stay." She reached for him with her good hand. "Hit the button or whatever. But stay. Please."

He jerked his head in a nod and dragged the chair closer. His fingers tangled in hers and she squeezed. "Chibs and Phil are outside. Everyone's been takin' turns—well, except Chibs, really; can't get rid of that asshole—but they'll only let one person in the room at a time."

"Taking turns," she murmured as though she weren't sure what the words meant.

He could tell she was drifting again, skimming the edge of consciousness and skating away from it. The doctor had said even after she woke up she'd probably be in and out for a while. But still. He'd been watching her sleep long enough. He wanted to hear her voice. He _needed_ to hear it, because despite everyone's (including Tara's) assurances to the contrary, he'd been afraid she might not wake up at all.

Her eyes struggled open and she squeezed his hand again. "How long?"

He shifted in the chair. "Don't worry about it right now, babe. Just get some rest."

"Don't leave," she whispered.

"I won't," he said. He pressed her fingertips to his mouth. "I'm right here, Liv."

* * *

The next time she woke the lights had been dimmed, so she wasn't greeted by quite the same level of excruciating pain. She shifted in bed and managed to turn her head a little. Chibs was in the chair instead of Juice, and when he saw her looking at him, a smile spread across his face.

"Well, well, Sleeping Beauty, nice of you to join us."

She grimaced. "Right."

She swallowed and gestured for some water. When he offered to hold the cup for her she took it from him instead. He propped himself against the bed and watched her as she drank.

"On a scale of one to Bride of Frankenstein, just how bad do I look?"

His mouth twisted and he ducked his head. "Aye, well, you've had better days, to be sure, but it's nice to see those pretty green eyes again."

"How long have I been out? Juice wouldn't say."

"Ohh…a few days. Off and on."

She choked and he took the cup from her before she could drop it. "A few _days_? How _many_?"

He sighed. "Lass—"

"Chibs."

His face hardened into the stubborn expression she recognized well. "It's mid-afternoon on the twenty-fourth. You were attacked on the nineteenth," he said, grudgingly.

She fell back against the pillow and stared down at her hands: one normal, the other wrapped in a cast. "Holy shit," she muttered.

"They had to do a wee bit of surgery on your head, and on your wrist, too. For the former they said it was lucky you've a thick skull, and for the latter—ahh…"

"Hum. I can imagine. It was a hot mess because of old injuries, yeah?"

He hitched a shoulder. "Aye."

That had been a rough moment; he'd heard all about it from Bobby. The doctor had come out, all official and frowning, and made some comment to the effect of _well what can you expect when she keeps _this_ kind of company?_ Bobby had needed to physically restrain Tig, and only Tara's intervention had stopped the doctor from calling the cops.

_Call them if you want,_ she'd said. _But Sheriff Roosevelt is a personal friend of mine, and of hers too. She's a survivor of a six-year marriage that almost killed her, and tonight she was brutally attacked in her own home. So maybe rather than pulling him or his men away from the crime scene, you can take your ridiculous assumptions and baseless allegations and shove them up your ass. Then, if you can still walk, _fix_ her fucking _wrist_._

Bobby had almost choked he laughed so hard, and Tig had stopped trying to deck the doctor long enough to applaud.

Chibs wished he'd seen it, but he'd gone to Olivia's to collect Juice. And good thing, too: the boy'd been in no state to operate a motor vehicle.

He cleared his throat. "Gemma dragged Juicy home for some sleep in a real bed and a meal that didn't come from a vending machine. He's been right here the whole time."

"Good," she murmured. "I'm glad she did. No reason for him to make himself sick."

"Sheriff Eli's been by a few times, but we've run him off."

Her eyes flicked his way and she managed a little frown. "No, it's okay. Next time he comes, let him in. I need to tell him what I remember, and he…he's kind of a friend."

"You, friends with a cop?" he said and lifted his brows.

"He's decent enough. For a cop."

"Aye," he said doubtfully.

Suddenly her eyes went wide. "Did you say surgery on my head?" Her hand fluttered up to her skull and her entire face transformed into a mask of relief when she brushed her fingers over her hair.

Chibs laughed and shook his head. "No worries there, lass. Juicy boy pitched a fit when they said they'd need to cut it, and then Tara had a thing or two to say about it, so in the end they just shaved a wee bit here." He pointed to a spot just above her temple. "Should grow back in no time."

Her head fell back against the pillow and she hauled in a deep breath. "Probably seems silly to you."

"Tara mentioned your mam. I supposed some people get ink, and other people grow their hair."

There was a knock at the door and a nurse bustled in without waiting for an answer. "Oh, good, you're awake!" she said. Her tone was sunny but she kept her voice low. She checked the stats on the monitor beside the bed and shone a light in both of Olivia's eyes. She winced, but apparently the nurse was satisfied. "Looking much better, hon."

"Word on the street is I look like I did ten rounds with Ali," she said, sardonically.

Chibs choked back a laugh and the nurse made a soft tutting sound at him. "Sheriff Roosevelt is here again. He's insisting we let him in as soon as you're awake. Are you awake?"

"Hhmm." She shifted in bed and hissed. "Yeah. I guess so."

The nurse eyed her. "I'll give him five minutes."

She hurried out and Chibs watched her go with a long whistle of admiration. "Now there's one to give a body a run for his money."

"Down, boy. You can flirt with her later."

Eli rapped his knuckles against the door and poked his head in. "Can I come in? The nurse was sort of…" He trailed off and cast a look over his shoulder.

"Aye," Chibs said. "But keep it short. Lass needs her rest."

Olivia could judge her appearance by the brief, unguarded spasm that pass over Eli's face. It was only a second before he mastered himself, but in that moment she realized she might've underestimated the damage.

"That bad?" she said.

"Nah, it's not—I just—" He cleared his throat and Chibs rolled his eyes.

"How about get on with it, yeah?" he growled.

She frowned. "Chibs. Maybe go get some coffee."

He scowled. She tilted her head. Finally he threw one long, hard glare at Eli and stomped out of the room. "Five minutes!" he said over his shoulder before he disappeared. He left the door ajar.

"You got some serious protectors, kid."

"Yeah, well, there's a reason I started hangin' out with biker gangs. Big and loud and uncouth, but also like tattooed mama grizzlies when someone fucks with one of their own." She flicked her fingers toward the chair. "Sit down."

"I'll stand," he said. "Only got five minutes, and don't want you to have to turn your head that far."

A brief silence fell while they studied each other. Finally Olivia said, "What happened, Eli?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "Best we can tell the intruders broke in and surprised you in the bathroom. You attacked at least one of them, but then somehow you fell and hit your head on the tub." He tapped his forehead, just above his left brow. "That was what did most of the damage."

"I don't remember much," she said.

"Doctor said that's normal. Maybe if we walk through it more will come back?"

It was worth a try, so she closed her eyes and trudged through the sludge inside her head. "Um. I…I wanted a bath."

"Okay, good. So that's why you were in your robe."

Her eyes flew open and an expression of horror contorted her face. "Eli—"

He held up a hand. "Whoa, hey, breathe." He leaned closer to fix her with his steady gaze. "No, Olivia. No. I promise you."

She let out a shaky breath and brushed her fingertips over her cheek. "Okay," she whispered. "Yeah, okay."

"If you don't want to do this now—"

She made a cutting gesture. "There were three of them. White."

"White?" he said. "You're sure?"

"They were wearing masks, but I jumped one of them. I was close enough to tell."

"That's the one you stabbed?"

"I _stabbed_ him?"

He let out a huff of amusement. "We're gonna be able to get some DNA off that knife of yours. Probably in the system, I'd imagine."

"He's the one who hit me, I think. I'm not sure."

"It's okay. We'll figure it out." He glanced back toward the door. "That's probably enough for today anyway. You need to rest."

"Wait, Eli. I do remember one thing."

He flipped his pad open again and his brow furrowed in a question.

"One of them kept talking about _he_. _He_ told them…he said not to hurt me."

"He? He who?"

"I don't know. But I got the idea—it wasn't random. They were there because of _me_, but I don't think they expected me to be there."

"Hum," he said. "Like Unser at Gemma's place."

"Someone's pulling the strings, and I really don't think it's Damon Pope."

He frowned and stowed his pad. He didn't tell her that between them, he and Unser had all but ruled out Pope as a suspect. Unser had his own ideas, and Eli could tell Jax did, too. He had his hands full between trying to chase down leads and keep Jackson Teller's overwrought sense of vigilante justice in check. He'd managed to work a promise out of Jax that he would come to Eli with anything he knew before taking action. He wasn't one hundred percent sure he believed him, but it was better than nothing.

"Get some rest, Olivia," he said and patted her gently on the arm. "We'll talk more later."

Her lids were already closing, but she managed to lift them long enough to offer a weary smile. "You're not so bad," she murmured, "for a cop."

He laughed. "High compliment, Ms. Gable. High compliment indeed."

* * *

_In other news, Eli's wife is not gonna die. There. Spoiler alert. Big change for s5. (this is partially bc I know the actress, Merle Dandridge, from my old _Rent_ days, and Merle deserved so much better. But it's also bc I really like Eli. And also bc I'm tired of women dying for manpain. Olivia's attack; and the motivations behind it; aren't designed to cause Juice manpain, but instead to help deepen the trust between them and to further his growing sense of agency. Part of my whole point of writing this thing was to correct some of the MAJOR HORRIBLE fumbles the writing team has made w Juice (and, frankly, everyone) since s4, one of the biggest being how he's constantly everyone's pawn and has no agency of his own.)_


	26. A Way Home

See the end notes for some timeline updates in case you're getting confused. I know I am.

* * *

**the king is dead and the queen has flown**  
**left me here in the twilight zone**  
**lost and lookin' for a way to get back home**  
**but there's no right and there's no wrong**  
**and i'll be good and i'll be strong**  
Bob Schneider, "Metal and Steel"

At some point when Olivia opened her eyes it was Jax in the chair next to the bed. He was flipping through a notebook, his brow creased in concentration, and she took a moment to study him. She could tell the gavel weighed on him. She had her reservations about Jackson Teller, and she would probably never completely trust him, but she did understand that he meant well.

But, of course, there was an old saying about the road to Hell and good intentions, and the position he was in now rarely allowed him to do what was purely _right_ over what was advantageous.

She let out a soft sigh and he looked up. He smiled, dimples flashing and blue eyes brightening, and she couldn't help but smile back. Slippery son of a bitch was a charmer when he wanted to be, and she was on a lot of drugs.

"You're awake," he said.

"Such a keen eye you have, Teller."

"And still a smartass. Guess one little blow to the head couldn't beat that out of you."

Her mouth curved. "Not my first blow to the head. They say the damage is cumulative, you know, so I guess there's still hope."

He glowered—as they always did when she so offhandedly referenced her old life—and slapped the notebook closed. He leaned closer and peered at her through narrowed eyes. "I can't believe they actually drilled a hole in your head."

"A very small hole. Better than the alternative, I guess."

He acknowledged that with a twist of his lips. Sat back and propped his ankle on the opposite knee. "I kicked Juice out, in case you're wondering. Clay's been bitchin' about his missing chauffeur and I figured you might be ready for a break."

She waved a hand. "He spends too much time here anyway. He needs to breathe something besides hospital air. I am a little surprised to see you, though."

"Why's that?" He sounded genuinely curious.

"Our last meeting wasn't exactly…wine and roses. More like yelling and throwing things."

"I might've overreacted. A little."

"Humm," she said. She picked at the sheet. "Yeah. Me too, maybe."

They fell quiet. It was probably as close as either of them would come to an apology, and all things considered it was a noble effort. He sighed and jittered his foot. She took a sip of water.

"There's a reason I came by, actually," he said at last.

"What? More than my scintillating conversation and squashed-tomato face?"

He barked out a laugh. "Not really squashed-tomato. It's not that bad."

"The more people tell me that the more I worry. I've refused to look in a mirror so far."

"That…might be a good idea," he said and pulled a face.

She couldn't really glare at him, so instead she stuck her tongue out. He laughed again.

"How's the eye?"

"Getting better. They won't know for a few more days if there'll be any permanent damage."

"Roosevelt said—" He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "He said whoever hit you was wearin' a ring."

"That's the rumor. I honestly have no idea. Most of it's still a jumbled up mess in my head."

"Most?" he said and his gaze sharpened.

She hesitated. "I haven't told Roosevelt this."

"Why? You think…?" He trailed off and lifted his hands. He had no idea what she might think.

"I trust him. It's not that. I just thought I should bring it to someone in the club first. If you hadn't stopped by today I was going to have Tara ask you to. She usually visits in the afternoons."

She was rambling a bit, but these days her mind tended to wander. He made a face and she knew to get on with it.

"The guy I stabbed—as if a stab wound isn't enough to help you ID him—had a tattoo on his neck. I've seen it before."

He went still. "Where?"

"The Nomads."

It was enough. He immediately understood what she meant. He fell back with a curse and scrubbed his hand over his face.

"You seem angry but not surprised."

"Unser and I worked some shit out. All this started when the Nomads came to town. None of us really know them, and if someone wanted to make SAMCRO look like shit—" He shrugged.

"Discredit SAMCRO and pin the whole thing on Pope. Then you look like a sucker for trusting him, especially in the wake of—of what happened to Opie."

He tilted his head in agreement. "You said one of the guys mentioned someone else."

"Yeah, but he didn't use a name. At least not that I remember."

"I know, just—he said they weren't supposed to touch you. They'd been ordered not to."

"They roughed up Sydney and Wade and did a number on Wayne," she said.

"So why would they have orders not to touch you if they found you at home?"

"I don't know. Maybe someone has a soft spot for redheads."

He grunted around a grim smile. "Or maybe someone owes you."

She tried to lift a brow and immediately regretted it. "Why would he target my place at all then?"

"I don't know. Because you're an easy target, way out there. Or because a lot of people in the club care about you. I mean, look, everyone likes a crow eater, and Wade's been workin' for us for a while. I'm sure they went after Gemma's thinkin' no one was home. But you? You're practically an old lady. That's a pretty strong message."

She made a low noise of disapproval and looked away. "Gemma's way more an old lady than I'll ever be, Jax. Also queen regent. I'm just a mechanic."

"Right." He let out an amused huff and scooted forward in the chair. "You know, Ollie, you're a whole lot of things—but you sure as fuck ain't _just_ anything."

"Was that…was that a _compliment_? From Jackson Teller? Oh mercy me I can die now with a smile on my face and light in my heart."

"Fuckin' smartass. Hit your dope button and go back to sleep."

He pushed himself to his feet, and she started to reach toward him before she caught herself. The sardonic humor had drained from her face, and she suddenly looked…vulnerable. Frightened. She attempted to smile, but it was a tremulous effort at best.

"Could you just—I'm sorry. I know you're busy. But could you stay until I fall asleep?"

What had it cost her to ask him that? Jax could only imagine, and he wasn't enough of an asshole to give her shit about it. Instead he dropped into the chair again and smiled slow and easy. "Sure, Ollie. I'm not that busy."

She swallowed and turned her face away. Her thumb worked the button to dose her, and as her eyelids fluttered closed he heard her whisper a soft thank you. _Just a mechanic my ass_, he thought. Only a fuckin' moron would buy that load.

* * *

The bed was empty and Juice sat in the chair next to it reading a comic book. Clay scowled and peeked out into the hall. Usual bustle of nurses and visitors, a couple of patients, but not the one he was looking for. Clearly he'd have to get rid of Juice, and for longer than he'd been planning.

"Hey, Juicy," he said, making his tone light and easy. "Where's Ollie? Was hopin' to say hi."

He glanced up from the comic with a nod toward the hall. "Physio. She's been gone a while, though, so it shouldn't be much longer. How's Gemma and Abel?"

Clay lifted his hands and made a noncommittal noise. "Okay. She's worried about the kid, mostly, but the doc says he'll be fine. Just a problem from his heart, and they got everything workin' again."

"Good. That's good." He closed the book and tossed it onto the bedside table. "Gemma say what happened?"

Clay stepped closer and let the door drift shut behind him. "I told Jax the same crew that shot at him and Chibs ran her off the road. He bought it, but I don't know. Won't take much checkin' to figure out it's bullshit."

Juice frowned. "I don't get it. What really happened?"

A heavy sigh. Juice pushed up from the chair and offered it to Clay. He sat with a grateful nod. "She was stoned. Maybe even a little drunk. Nodded off and swerved off the road."

"Holy shit," Juice said, his eyes round. "When Jax finds out—"

"Honestly I'm not as worried about Jax's reaction as Tara's."

"She's already…"

He trailed off and his scowl deepened. He remembered what he'd overheard the other day in the clubhouse: _You're already dead to me_. When he'd asked Clay what he'd done, he just said it was the same thing he did to everyone. Juice wasn't completely sure what that meant, but he had an idea—especially since the shit went down with Greg and GoGo at Unser's that morning.

Juice wasn't sure how he might've finished the thought, because just then the door opened and an orderly wheeled Olivia back in.

"Heyyy," Clay said, "there she is!"

She cut a quick glance at Juice and pasted on a smile. "Hey, Clay. Been a while."

"I've been by once or twice, but you were always sleeping. Didn't want to wake you."

Their eyes met, and hers seemed to say, _And you didn't smother me in my sleep? Admirable restraint._ Aloud she only said, "Good of you. Hard to get any real sleep in a hospital, even when they keep you doped to the gills."

The orderly helped her back into the bed and got the blankets and pillows arranged.

"You good, Ollie?"

She almost rolled her eyes. Somehow even the hospital staff had picked up on the nickname. "Could I get some orange juice, Aaron? I'm sick of water."

"Sure," he said. "Hang tight. I'll be back." He nodded at Clay and Juice and shut the door behind him as he left.

"So," Olivia said, "what brings you boys by?"

Juice cleared his throat. No one had told her about the accident, he knew, but he figured she'd find out eventually anyway. "Gemma was in a wreck last night. Abel and Thomas were in the car with her."

"What? Is everyone okay?"

"Gemma's banged up and shaky, but she's fine. Abel had a heart thing that they've gotten straightened out," Clay said. "Thomas wasn't hurt at all."

She let out a long breath. "Good. Wow. What happened?"

Clay and Juice exchanged a look. Olivia frowned and tried to interpret it. At last Juice said, "Asshole ran her off the road."

"Hum" was Olivia's only reply.

Clay shifted his weight in the chair and fixed his gaze on Juice. "Listen, Juicy, I need your help with something."

"Yeah, Clay. What's up?" he said with a surprised start.

"Head over to the clubhouse. Find out what they know about Frankie Diamonds. As soon as you hear anything, call me."

"Where're you gonna be?" he said, doubtfully.

"I thought I'd keep Ollie company for a bit. Give us a chance to catch up. If she gets sick of me I'll stop in on Gemma again."

She didn't trust the easy bonhomie in his tone, and part of her wanted to ask Juice to stay. But at the same time they did have a few things to work out, and they definitely couldn't do that with him in the room.

"Go ahead, Juice. I'm sure we'll be fine here."

He didn't like it much, this whole business of going behind the club's back, and he definitely didn't like walking out on Olivia again. Even for Clay. He had this own doubts about what had happened to Greg and GoGo (despite Clay's version of events), and he wondered at how Clay seemed so intent on getting to the Nomads before the club did. The Nomads were behind the home invasions, he said. Okay, fine. But why the fuck would they do that? It didn't make sense, and Juice was sure there was a lot he didn't get yet.

He wanted to talk to Olivia. She had a way of putting things into perspective; probably because she didn't really give two shits about the club at this point; and he felt like he could really use that right now.

But at the moment they weren't alone, and he had no real way of refusing Clay's request and getting rid of him, so instead Juice nodded. "Sure," he said. "Probably won't be gone long."

He glanced at Olivia, and the wry smile in her eyes was for him alone. She knew there was something up, but she couldn't mention it aloud either. He squeezed between the chair and the bed, ostensibly to get his comic, but he brushed his fingers over the back of her hand and winked at her where Clay couldn't see. He wanted to kiss her, but not in front of Clay.

"Bye, Liv," he said from the door. "I'll talk to you soon, Clay."

"Yeah, Juicy. Drive safe."

The door shut and they were alone. A tense, loaded silence fell, and it took all of her concentration not to fidget. She felt like a rabbit in the room with a caged fox. The setting (and the promise that Aaron the orderly could return anytime with her OJ) might be keeping her safe enough, but she couldn't shed the instinctual fear that came from being in the room with a predator.

"I'm not here to fuck with you, Ollie," he said, his gruff voice quiet.

She turned her head to give him an incredulous look. "Just to threaten and intimidate?"

He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. He knocked out the nasal cannula attached to his oxygen tank and didn't fix it back. She lifted a brow and a sardonic smile curved her lips. That answered one question at least.

"GoGo and Greg are dead," he said. "I killed them myself. The club's tracking Frankie Diamonds, but I wanna take care of him first."

"Right. Because you're so fucking altruistic. Gimme a break, Clay. You need to get to Frankie before they do so he doesn't spill everything he knows about your little arrangement."

"You weren't supposed to be home."

"Hmm," she said. "You knew the cops had my car. There were lights on in my house. Are these Nomad boys of your so stupid they can't put two and two together to equal four?"

He lifted a hand in a shrug. "They shoulda just tossed the place and gotten out. I never meant for this to happen to you."

She swallowed back her rage and tried to think clearly. "You realize I might not come back from this, right? Not fully. This is my fourth concussion. They start to do permanent damage after a while, even mild ones. This one sure as fuck wasn't mild." She held up her arm. "They had to break my wrist in three places to get it set right. Admittedly that wasn't entirely your boy's fault; the fuckin' thing wouldn't've broken in the first place if it hadn't already been fucked all to hell from old shit."

"I know. All I can do is apologize."

"Fuck your apology, Clay Morrow. You think I don't know what it's worth? I gave you a chance, Clay. I saved your life in that garage so you could be _better_. And you turn around and sic your boys on me? Fuck your apology and fuck _you_. Fuck the games men play. Fuck Charming and fuck SAMCRO."

He grunted in amusement. "Good to see this shit hasn't broken you."

"Takes a lot more than a little brain surgery to break me."

"No shit," he said with something like admiration.

Her nostrils flared and she looked away. The last thing she wanted was Clay Morrow's _regard_. "What's to stop me from taking this to Jax and the club?" she said in a choked voice. "You've all but admitted your role in everything to me, and you confessed to killing Greg and GoGo."

"You could do that," he said. "That'd be your right and I wouldn't blame you." He leaned forward and the sound of it turned her head back to him. His eyes were predatory, his smile a lean, sharklike baring of teeth. "But you do that, little girl, and I spill all of Juicy's dirty little secrets at table."

Her face went still.

"That's right. He told me all about Miles and the coke. I got enough to bury him so deep ain't nobody gonna find him."

"The club knows—"

"_Jax_ might know, but the _club_ sure as fuck doesn't. Happy? You think he knows? How about Tig?"

Tears sprang into her eyes, but they were motivated by fury, not sadness or fear. "You would do that?" she said in a soft, wondering voice. "There is one person left on the planet who genuinely cares for you and respects you, and you would throw him away like garbage?"

He flinched and dropped her gaze. "I'd do what I had to do."

"Of course. Clarence Morrow, hero to the people. You'd destroy the last person who loves you just to serve your all-consuming ambition. Honestly, Clay, is it worth it? Is the fucking gavel _that_ important? It's an illusion of power, not the real thing. What does it matter in the long run? It would be a Pyrrhic victory at best."

"Huh," he said. She resorted to big words when she was pissed, he'd noticed, but this was one reference he understood. "I might have my gavel back but everything else would be shit."

"It would tear the club apart, and from what I hear it's already a hot mess." When she spoke again her voice had taken on that sweetness that signaled danger for anyone with ears to hear it. "You wanna burn me, sugar, go for it. But I'll bet you anything you've got that my tolerance for pain is miles beyond yours."

"Yeah. I don't doubt that." He paused. "You might have a high tolerance, but Juice doesn't."

She subsided with a scowl. "No. That's true. So it looks like we're at an impasse."

He seemed to fold in on himself. He slumped back against the chair and rubbed his chin. "I'm not gonna betray Juice, Olivia. You're right. He's like a son to me. What I've got with him is what I always wanted with Jax. I just couldn't stop fucking it up."

She studied him for a long time. There was something genuine in his voice, a note of weariness and grief she hadn't heard before.

"I don't give a fuck about the gavel anymore. It's meaningless."

"So what, Clay? Why all this bullshit with the home invasions?"

"Don't get me wrong. I did that to get my club back. But after what happened to Wayne, and to you—" He threw out his hands in a shrug. "The only thing I care about now is Gemma. I want her back. I'll do anything for her. That can't happen if Frankie spills our shit to the club. They'll take my patch and send me to Mayhem."

"Maybe you should just tell them."

He stared at her, aghast.

"It's an idea. Or maybe tell someone you trust first. Not Juice. He can't vote for you against the club or Jax will…" She trailed off and flicked her fingers. "Someone else. Tig, maybe."

"Tiggy ain't had shit to say to me since I lied about who shot me and he killed that girl. We were already on the outs over what I did to Gemma."

"I don't know what to tell you, Clay. You've burned a lot of bridges in this town. You had everything. A woman who loved you. A stepson who looked up to you. Your club. People's respect and admiration. Now in a little over two years you've lost it all. Thrown it away, even. Was any of it worth it?"

"No," he said, shortly. "And it took me way too fucking long to realize it."

She chewed her lip and considered him. He said he wouldn't betray Juice, but could she trust that? Every instinct told her no, but still some small part of her believed him. This Clay seemed a different man, a transformed one, and it had taken way more than a brush with death to do it. Stubborn son of a bitch.

"I'm not gonna help you with Gemma, Clay."

"Wouldn't ask you to."

"Good." A pause. "I don't know if there's atonement enough for you, but I do know the club won't wait around for it. I don't want your death on my head. I don't want Juice to have to make that call. So I'll keep what I know to myself, and I'm going to _trust you_—as stupid as that sounds—to protect Juice. Don't let him in on your bullshit. Don't make him part of it."

"I've kept him separate."

"What about with GoGo and Greg?"

"He thinks Unser did it because they tried to kill him to keep him quiet."

"Okay," she said with a slow nod. "Let's keep it that way." Her mouth quirked. "Let me make one thing clear: I'm not doing this for you. I don't owe you a fucking thing. This is all for Juice. You can go to hell and your club right along with it. _He_ is what matters to me."

He returned her smile with an ironic one of his own. "Looks like you finally made your choice."

"Having your face smashed into a bathtub will clarify a few things."

"Yeah," he said as his smile faded, "I guess it would."

* * *

Juice had confronted Clay with his suspicions about Greg and GoGo, and Clay had admitted that he killed them. He claimed Pope was behind the attacks, but somehow Juice doubted it. It just didn't seem to jive with what they'd seen from Pope so far. He was more confrontational. He pretty much laid his cards out on the table and _told_ you how it was gonna be.

And now Frankie claimed Clay had been the one pulling the strings all along. That would mean _Clay_ was responsible for what happened to Olivia. Indirectly, but he never should have pulled that shit in the first place. He wanted the club back so bad he was willing to put people they cared about in danger?

The worst part was Juice had left Olivia alone with Clay in the hospital yesterday. Anything could've happened. Now he understood why she'd asked that orderly for orange juice. She drank water like a fish, pretty much all the time, and for her to suddenly be "sick" of it and want juice instead hadn't made much sense. She'd been making sure Clay knew they could be interrupted at any time. It was a safety measure.

How many of those little tricks had she perfected over the years? Simple, subtle safety nets and escape routes. He realized it was about a hell of a lot more than never turning your back to the room. Her entire lifestyle, her mindset, her _existence_ was focused on knowing at all times how to protect herself.

How to get away.

And he was asking her to stay in Charming. Stay with him. Stay in a place that had already almost killed her and stay with a man who'd proven he couldn't protect her. He should have let her go the night she found out about the deal. He should have helped her pack. Hell, he should've gone the fuck with her. She was right: this town and this club were picking them all off one by one, and soon there wouldn't be anything left.

He banged a wrench against the table and scowled at Chibs' bike. He'd offered to fix it after Frankie Diamonds shot out the tires, and in one way he was glad he had: it gave him something distracting to do. But a bigger part of him wished he were at the hospital with Olivia. He'd been away too much lately, wrapped up in club business, and he missed her. He worried about her. He wanted to tell her what Frankie had said, and how Clay had acted when he'd confronted him about Greg and GoGo. He wondered if anyone had told her about Lyla.

He was done with the bike, and if he hurried he could make it to the hospital before that one mean nurse came on duty and kicked everyone out. Not the one Chibs had the hots for; she was kinda sweet. This one was older, with a hatchet face and hair like a helmet.

He wiped down the tools and stowed them away. He was glad to see Wade and the others were keeping the shop neat while Olivia was gone. She was particular about…well, everything in the garage, and she'd be pissed if she came back to a mess.

The door behind him opened just as he shut the last drawer, and he turned warily. Jax and Chibs stood there, and Juice offered them a quick smile.

"All done, Chibs," he said. "Good as new."

"Aye, Juicy," he said as he inspected the bike with a keen eye. "She looks great."

"I was just on my way to the hospital, so—"

"Ollie can wait, Juice," Jax said, his voice gruffer than usual. "We got somethin' to talk about."

"Um." He frowned and looked away. Back. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

"Sit down, laddie," Chibs said and poked his cigarette toward one of the stools.

Juice sank down on it and his worried gaze flicked back and forth between the two. Was this about Clay? Or something about Olivia? He and Jax had talked about the bogus deal, and he said he didn't blame Olivia; they'd all been duped; and, hell, maybe Potter hadn't even meant to trick her.

"You wanna earn your way back in, Juicy?" Jax said.

It surprised him, but in a good way. He jerked his head in a nod. "You know I do, Jax."

"Good. I got a job for you. Do it and we're clear. Yeah?"

"Lay it on me, brother," he said. "Whatever it is, I got you."

Jax' mouth curved in a grim smile. "It's about Clay and what he did to your girl. I think once you hear what I got to say, this won't even be a problem."

Juice's mouth hardened. "Tell me."

* * *

_I have fucked up this timeline to the point that even I barely know where we are anymore. Okay, so. I've made it so that Juice told Clay about Miles etc a little earlier than he did on the show. Also, while the time between Olivia's attack (which is basically a stand in for Rita Roosevelt's attack) and the truth about the Nomads/Clay/etc coming out has been extended, I've compressed the time between Greg and GoGo's deaths and Frankie's escape. At least I think I have. Once again, telling time on SoA is a Herculean task and frankly most days I'm not up to it._

_In summation: by the time Olivia and Clay have their confrontation in this chapter it's been a little over two weeks since the attack. The scene with Juice, Jax, and Chibs takes place the next day, obviously _after_ they went to find Frankie and that dude killed him. So at this point we're about halfway through season 5, and honestly the rest of s5 might be covered in the next chapter bc I'm sick of this mess._


	27. Lit Dynamite

I'm publishing this simultaneously on archiveofourown, and also on my tumblr (url stupidscalptattoos), so you can always check over there if you wanna.

Enjoy!

* * *

**oh there's larry he's alright**  
**he's a walking stick of lit dynamite**  
**always gets it wrong**  
**his heart's as soft as chicken bone**  
Bob Schneider, "Come With Me Tonight"

She was thrilled to see Juice when he walked into her room that night. Not just because she'd missed him—though she had; he hadn't been around much lately—but also because she was starting to feel better, and that meant boredom was setting in. She couldn't knit, not with her wrist like it was, and it gave her a headache to try to read. She had the TV on at the moment, but she had to keep the volume super low or, yeah—a headache. Visitors were really her only respite from her own brain.

She hit the _off_ button on the remote and grinned. Her smile faded as he stepped closer and she got a better look at him. His face was haggard and his eyes downcast. There was a deep groove between his brows.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

He slumped down into the chair and leaned forward with his head in his hands. "I'm such a fuck up, Liv."

"No more so than anyone else, really. Just, um. Yours've been maybe a little concentrated lately."

He looked up with an incredulous expression. She shrugged a shoulder and her mouth tilted wryly.

"Come here," she said.

He rose uncertainly to his feet and she tugged him closer.

"Here, silly. In the bed with me."

He gave her a long look, but at last he relented and perched on the edge of the bed to take off his boots. He slipped his cut off his shoulders and tossed it in the chair. He lifted his eyebrows at her and she nodded, so he swung his legs up and stretched out next to her. She curled up against his side and pressed her face into his shoulder. She took a long breath through her nose and he looked at her, puzzled.

"I've missed you. And, you know, smell is the sense tied the strongest to memory, so I was just reminding myself."

"Oh," he said. He brushed his nose against her hair, and through the hospital smells of medicine and antiseptic he caught a hint of Olivia. "I missed you too."

She rested her cast across his belly. He ran gentle fingers through her hair and down the side of her neck.

"How's the head?"

"Mmm. Hurts, but not as much. How's my face?" She still refused to look in a mirror, despite the hospital shrink's advice that she "couldn't confront the reality of the attack until she looked it head on." As if Olivia didn't know anything about dealing with PTSD.

"Better," he said. "Less purple. Going yellow, mostly, except in the worst spot near your eye."

"Sounds lovely."

"Practically perfect."

"Don't try to charm me, Juice Ortiz. I'm immune."

"Bullshit."

"Mostly immune," she admitted with a grin.

He raised her chin for a kiss, a bare whisper of lip against lip, but when he would have pulled away she tugged him back. Her mouth was warm and soft, her lips chapped, and suddenly he remembered it had been almost three weeks since he'd been able to really kiss her. She murmured something he didn't understand and pressed closer. His hand drifted down along her side, but the sheets were between them.

She leaned back and pulled at them. "Here," she said, "get under."

"Liv, maybe—"

"Hush," she whispered and her mouth was on his again.

He managed to get under the blankets with her, and his fingers easily found the edge of the hospital gown. He traced the line of her thigh and the curve of her hip and he felt her smile. He wrapped an arm around her and rolled them over so that he was resting between her legs. He was careful to keep his weight off of her. He frowned a little and kissed her chest above the edge of the gown.

"Babe," he said, his voice rough, "I don't want to hurt you."

She smoothed the line between his brows with her fingertips. "Then be gentle. Don't worry; if we have to stop I'll take care of you."

He scowled. "I'm not worried about _that_. Pretty sure I'm old enough to know there's no such thing as blue balls."

She laughed, that low ripple that made his blood run hot. "I know, baby. I was teasing." She pulled him closer for another kiss, but stopped short. "How old _are_ you, Ortiz?"

The question surprised him. He realized he'd been inside for his last two birthdays: one shortly after they got in, and one right before they got out. "Thirty-four," he said. "I'll be thirty-five in July."

"Hhhmm." Her mouth curved and she ran her tongue over his lower lip. "Looks like I'll owe you a birthday cake. Assuming we live that long."

He made a face at her and shifted a little. She hissed and he froze. "I should move."

"No," she said, her voice suddenly urgent. "No, don't. I'm okay. I just want…"

She balled her good hand in his shirt and kissed him hungrily. She nipped his lips with her teeth and sucked his tongue into her mouth and he had his hands on her thighs without even thinking about it. He rucked the hospital gown up over her hips and caressed the soft skin of her inner thighs with his thumbs.

He kissed her neck and caught her earlobe between his teeth. "What do you want, Livvie? Tell me."

He only ever called her _Livvie_ when they were like this, when he was hard and aching for her. It sent a sharp spike of pure lust through her and she shivered with it.

"You, Juicy," she breathed against his skin. "I need you inside me. Put your hands on me. Help me remember."

He almost asked her _remember what?_ but he knew. She could've died from what they did to her, and as it was she might not quite ever be the same again. He hoped she didn't doubt _him_, but part of her must. Part of her probably doubted everyone and everything, and the way she clung to him made him think how fragile she was. She pretended to be untouchable, hard as nails and mean as a pissed off hornet, but she wasn't. She had her moments, yeah, but over all she was a hell of a lot more than what she seemed.

His fingers brushed the soft curls between her legs and she bit her lip. He flicked across her clit. A flush spread over her cheeks. He untied the gown's knot at the back of her neck and pulled it down so that he could kiss the curve of her shoulder. His free hand drifted lower to cup her breast, and he tugged gently on the nipple until she was squirming beneath him.

He slid a finger inside her and caught her moans with his mouth. She reached down and tried to unfasten his belt one-handed. He laughed a little and she glared.

"Don't make fun of the handicapped, Ortiz," she said.

He kissed her nose where it scrunched. "Here, let me help." He kept his weight propped on one elbow, and between the two of them they got his pants undone and pushed down his legs.

She squeezed his cock and smirked. "Miss me, baby?" she murmured.

He could only nod. He grasped her legs and pulled them up and around him. She guided him until he was pressed against her. With one long, easy glide he was inside, and she let out the breath she'd been holding. His forehead dropped to her shoulder and she ran a hand over the curve of his skull.

"God you feel good," he muttered, his breath hot on her skin. He nipped and licked her neck and started to move in smooth, unhurried thrusts.

Her head fell back and her hips raised up to meet him. He moved faster without meaning to, but when he tried to slow again she dug her nails into his scalp.

"Don't stop," she said, her voice high and strained. "Please, Juicy, that's so good!"

He adjusted the angle a little and she whimpered. A grin split his face. He ran his nose up the line of her throat. "Look at me, Liv."

Her eyes opened and she smiled when she saw him above her.

"I love you," he said.

Her laugh turned into a moan and he could feel the muscles in her legs dancing under his hands. "I love you too, Juice," she managed between sharp gasps.

She gripped his shoulder and her body arched as the orgasm shuddered through her. It took him by surprise, the strength and swiftness of it, and that was his undoing. He buried his face in the curve of her neck to muffle his moans as he came with her. He bit down hard enough to leave a mark, but then soothed the spot with his tongue. Her skin was salty and hot and he reveled in the flavor.

"I love you, Olivia," he said when he had his breath back.

"Mmmm." She smiled and stroked his head. "You said that already."

"I thought I'd say it again. You know. After."

"So I wouldn't think it was motivated by your libido?"

"Something like that."

They stayed locked together a few moments longer. She kissed his jaw. He ran a hand along her side. Their eyes met and her smile was sweet enough to hurt.

He rolled over next to her and helped her adjust the hospital gown before he tugged his pants into place. He pulled her against him and she rested her cheek on his chest. Their fingers twined together. She sighed.

"You okay?" he said.

"Yes. Better than." She hesitated, and he waited her out. "You gonna tell me what you fucked up?"

"Club stuff," he said with a frown. "Doesn't matter."

"Does it have to do with Clay?"

He stiffened. "How—?"

"Figured it out. And then he admitted it when he was here the other day. Said he killed Greg and GoGo, too."

"Fuck," he muttered. He let out a long breath. "Jax told me I could earn my way back if I found these papers they supposedly stole from Clay and Gemma's safe. Birth certificates and stuff, I guess. He said if Clay were really behind the invasions he'd have all that. Anything else, like jewelry, they probably woulda fenced."

"Makes sense," she said. Her voice was starting to sound sleepy, so he hurried on.

"I found them in a vent in Clay's ceiling. Jax told me to keep him there, and he was gonna bring some of the guys to confront him about it."

Now he had her attention. She raised her head and tapped a finger against his sternum. "So what happened?"

"Jax got picked up."

"By the cops?"

"No. By some guys. Mexicans, I guess. _Kidnapped_ might be a better word."

"Oh. Something new, then."

He huffed out a dry chuckle. "When we got the call I tried to stay at Clay's, but he pushed me out the door. I mean, literally. When we got back later—with Jax; he was fine—the papers were gone. Clay figured out what I did and he covered his ass."

"Hum," she said, thoughtfully. "I know I've only recently suffered a fairly serious brain injury, so maybe I missed something. Explain the part where _you_ fucked up?"

"Jax didn't get the proof he needed to expose what Clay did to the club, and it's because I left Clay alone in the house—which Jax specifically ordered me not to."

"Right. Because he physically shoved you out the door of his home. What were you supposed to do? Shoot him?"

He shrugged restlessly. "I don't know. I think that woulda made Jax happy, honestly."

"What did he say to you?"

He rubbed his face and frowned up at the ceiling. "He tried to punch me, but Chibs held him back."

"Jesus. Trust Jax to think with his fists."

"I deserved it."

"No, you didn't. No one deserves to be treated like that, Juice, and the fact that you think you do shows just how fucked up it all is." She sucked in a breath and tried to relax. Losing her temper wouldn't do anyone any good. "What happened next?" she said after a moment.

"Bobby told him he needed to calm down because he didn't have any proof Clay was behind the break-ins."

His forehead creased. He needed to go back a little for it all to make sense. He told her about the vote that afternoon, that they were officially making a break from the cartel and the guns and going into the escort business. He gave her a nervous look at that last, but she just tilted her head in a shrug.

"Slightly more honest and far less dangerous living than drug and gun running. And I've seen Nero's place; his girls are all there voluntarily and he takes good care of them. That's what matters to me."

"Huh." It always surprised him, her attitude about things like porn and strippers and prostitutes. She had strong opinions about the industries as a whole, and most of them were pretty fucking scathing, but he'd never heard her say anything bad about someone working in that life.

"We all do our thing, Juice. A lot of people who work nine-to-fives in big office buildings seem way unhappier than Nero's girls, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah," he said, "I guess so. I hadn't thought about it much before." He waved a hand. "Anyway, Bobby told Jax he'd done a real good thing for the club, but if he kept on after Clay he was gonna fuck it all up."

"Good for Bobby," she said with an appreciative grin. "What did Jax have to say to that?"

"He said—he got real quiet, and he said there was a bunch of other stuff he couldn't prove." He told her about JT and the real reason Clay had killed Piney. "He also said _Clay_ is the one who tried to have Tara kidnapped."

She was quiet, and he craned his neck to look at her.

"You knew that."

She bit her lip. "About Tara, yeah. About Piney? Well. I didn't know all the details, but I knew Clay was lying about it. I didn't have a clue about Jax's dad."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said, softly.

"I guess I should have, but I—" Her mouth twisted. "You trust Clay. You respect him. What's more, I think he values you, too. When I saved his life that night I told him it was to give him a chance to remake himself, to become a better man. I thought you could help him do that. And, more, I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to destroy your faith in someone you love."

"Okay," he said on a long breath. "I get that. But you should've told me, Liv. You should've let me make my own decision."

"Yeah," she said with a troubled frown. "I see that now. I'm sorry."

"Is there anything else you're not telling me?"

"There's plenty, babe…but nothing else about the club." A pause. "This excuse is getting old, I know, but I'm not used to trusting anyone. This"—she gestured between them—"is almost foreign to me. I'm trying, Juicy. I promise I am."

"I know," he said. "It's not the easiest thing for me either."

"We've both been through some shit, kid."

"You got that right." He leaned closer to kiss her, but before he could the door burst open. He almost fell off the bed in his surprise, and she smothered a laugh.

"_What_ is going on in here?"

It was the hatchet-faced nurse, the mean one.

"Nothing," Olivia said, all big, innocent eyes. "I was cold."

"Hhmm," the nurse said, skepticism ringing through the small noise like the clang of a church bell. "You could have asked for an extra blanket." She pointed at Juice. "You, in that chair, or I throw you out right now."

He slunk guiltily from the bed and sat. She took a moment to check Olivia's stats and then fixed each of them with a baleful glare. "If I come back in here to find you in that bed again, young man, I'm banning you. If you think I can't do it, try me."

He nodded, she narrowed her eyes even further, but then finally she hustled out. The door closed smartly behind her and Olivia couldn't hold in her mirth any longer.

"It's not funny!" he said. "I feel like your mom just caught us making out in the basement!"

"At least she didn't come in twenty minutes ago," she said through her giggles.

"Don't even joke, Olivia. She probably would've done that thing with the ear twisting." He mimed what he meant and pulled a face. "I hate the ear twisting."

She stopped laughing, but her lips still twitched. "Poor baby," she said. "If she'd twisted your ears I would've kissed them better."

"Ha. You're a cunning temptress, Olivia Gable, and this is all your fault."

She smirked. "Guilty as charged, sugar."

* * *

She'd spent another three or four days in the hospital—almost four weeks, all told, but that was mostly because of the therapy for her eye—and she'd been out nearly a week. Her cast was set to come off in a few days, and then she'd start physical therapy on _that_. She was just glad they hadn't had to use pins or plates. She was lucky, really: the cut on her forehead had healed nicely and there would barely be a scar. The skin covering the bur hole above her temple was healed, and the doctor said the hole itself would be gone within another month or so. The bruises were reduced to shadows now, and she could easily cover those with makeup.

Eli had delivered her car the day after she got out, but she wasn't cleared to drive it yet. Bright light still bothered her left eye, but she'd been told that would correct itself in time. There wasn't any permanent damage to the eye itself. She was anxious and annoyed at not being able to drive, and she filled her time doing small things that she could mostly accomplish one-handed. The Cougar had never been so shiny.

She had been nervous about going home, and she'd almost asked Juice if she could crash at his place for a while. But then she remembered what she'd told Gemma: if she were going to stay in Charming, she was going to stay in _her_ home, not anyone else's.

Once Gemma recovered enough from the wreck and the crime scene tape was down, she led a small team of crow eaters through the place and scrubbed everything from top to bottom. The books were returned to the shelves (in alphabetical order). The floor was polished. The bathroom was cleaned and bleached and cleaned again to within an inch of its life. She even got someone in to repair the broken locks on the front door _and_ did her best to patch up the damage to the afghan.

Olivia, much to her embarrassment, cried when she saw what they'd done—tears of fury and sorrow and relief and, finally, joy. Juice was the only one to witness it, because despite Gemma's desire to have a _welcome home_ type bash, he was shrewd enough to know how much Olivia would hate that. He drove her home from the hospital and held her while she sobbed, and it wasn't until the next day that people started to drop in.

The one perk of the whole thing: they brought food.

She was home alone for one of the first times since getting out of the hospital, and it was beautiful. She had spent the morning consolidating and repackaging leftovers (Gemma had also bought her baggies and an obscene amount of Tupperware), and after a quick lunch of a ham sandwich and carrots, she stood on her front stoop sipping lemonade. She wondered how much longer this precious solitude would last.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a familiar SUV appeared down the block. Her mouth quirked. If she had to have company at least it was Tara. Olivia waved as the car got closer, and she walked out to the driveway to meet her.

They shared a brief hug and Tara ran a hand down her hair. "What's going on here?" she said. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear it down."

She made a face. "Juice helped me wash it before he left this morning, but I can't braid it with one hand."

"Hhhmm," she said as they headed inside. "Maybe I can help with that."

"Speaking of hands, how's yours?"

"Getting there," she said. She kicked off her shoes and hung her purse from the coatrack. "The doctor said he doesn't think there'll be any permanent nerve damage."

"That's great! So you'll be able to operate again?"

"Yeah, looks like."

Olivia grinned and motioned for Tara to have a seat on the couch. "Can I get you anything? I have lemonade and tea and so much food I could feed an army."

She waved a hand. "I'm fine. I mostly just stopped by to see how you're doing."

Olivia's brow lifted and she studied her friend with shrewd eyes. Something was up. Tara's smile was shadowed and there was a heaviness to the cant of her head. A tightness around her eyes.

"I'll be right back. All my hair ties are in the bedroom."

Tara nodded and Olivia left her there. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but she knew she would probably dodge the question. Everyone (except Juice, and even him a little bit) had been walking on eggshells around her since the attack. They'd all been so careful not to tell her anything that would upset her. She'd only found out Lyla had been shot when she showed up at the house with a casserole and a limp.

As she stepped back into the living room she caught Tara in an unguarded moment. Terrified was how she looked. Distraught and at a loss. Her eyes were trained on the window but her gaze was far away. Her hands hung loosely in her lap and her skin was pale. Olivia paused and stepped back. Shuffled her feet to make some noise and give Tara time to collect herself.

Now she had a smile pasted on, and she held out a hand for the hairbrush and small pile of hair ties. "How many braids do you think I'm going to do? My styling skills are pretty basic."

"Oh, it's in case one breaks or runs away or whatever. They have a mind of their own most of the time."

She sat on the floor in front of the couch and Tara scooted forward. Her touch was gentle and soothing as she brushed out Olivia's hair, and after a moment she closed her eyes like a contented cat.

"How have things been going with Otto?" she asked without opening them again.

Tara went still. Bingo.

"How did you know about Otto?"

"Jax told me. He said you were trying to talk him into recanting."

She let out a long breath and began to separate the hair into sections. "The club's safe from RICO. At least where Otto's concerned."

"So he recanted?"

"Not exactly." She frowned at the top of Olivia's head and told her what had happened with the cross and the nurse. She had to stop as soon as the words were out and press a hand against her mouth. "What have I done, Ollie? He killed an innocent woman to fuck over Jax and the club, and now I could go to prison for conspiracy."

She pulled away, her hair half-done, and pushed up to sit on the couch next to her. "First of all, it wasn't your fault. You had no idea what he would do."

"But legally—"

"I'm not talking legally right now. I'm talking for _you_, in your mind, to make it right." She brushed her hand across Tara's and the other woman gripped her fingers and squeezed. "He conned you, plain and simple. That isn't your fault."

"I feel like I should've seen through it. He was so angry. I should've picked up on it."

"You're not psychic, Tara. You're human. You were trying to help the man you love and his family."

"So I did the wrong thing for the right reasons," she said, dully.

"That's generally the order of the day around here. But, no, that's not exactly what I meant. It was maybe poor judgment, but, fuck. I left my door mostly unlocked when I knew my crazy ex-father-in-law was hunting me _and_ there'd been a series of home invasions against people associated with SAMCRO. Talk about poor judgment."

Tara snorted out a laugh through her tears. "Please, Ollie, no victim blaming here."

"Okay, then. Don't blame yourself for what Otto did. You were his victim, too."

She rubbed a hand across her face and shook her head. "I was offered that position in Portland despite my hand. I told the woman today I would take it—but I don't want Jax to know."

Olivia paused. Her voice was careful when she said, "What's your plan?"

"I don't know. I don't know yet. If I can get through this Otto thing I—I've gotta get out, Ollie. I've got to take my boys and get as far away from Charming as I can."

She chewed her lip. A crease formed between her brows. "Tara—"

"I don't want to put you in the middle of anything."

"No," she said, quickly. "Listen to me. This stays between us. Juice has no reason to know; it would just make him even more conflicted. You want out? I'll help you get out. Any way I can."

Tara's chin fell to her chest and she choked out a sob. Olivia wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"This place kills everyone. It destroys everything."

"I know, sweetheart. Take your boys and put this hellhole of a town in your rearview mirror. Maybe one day I'll even follow you."

"You could come to Portland," she said as she sat up and shook her hair back. "I'm sure they need mechanics there, too."

"Yeah, I'm sure they do. But you know I can't. Not until Juice is ready to go." She hesitated. "In a lot of ways he's not cut out for this life. I mean that in a good way. He's _too good_ for it. But he's caught up in it, and he doesn't understand that family shouldn't hurt."

"Jax does, but he doesn't know how to change it."

"So which is worse do you think?"

She brushed away the tears and her red-rimmed gaze was thoughtful. "I don't know. I think the worst is being us. We're the ones left holding the pieces when everything falls apart."

Olivia made a low noise of agreement. "One day there won't be enough pieces left."

"I'm getting out before that happens, Ollie. I'm not going to let Charming and SAMCRO do to my boys what it's done to their father. I'm getting the fuck _out_."

* * *

_Sooo Olivia asking Juice his age is me getting a little meta. As I've complained about before, we never see birthdays on SoA, so I have no idea how old he's meant to be. I think it's safe to say Juice is younger than Theo, who just turned 39 a few weeks ago, because I don't think they would've cast such a young-looking actor in the role if they'd intended him to be in his late 30s (Theo does not look 39). Anyway. Based on his behavior and the way they treat him, I'm kind of assuming he's a bit younger than the others (except Jax, who I think is meant to be Charlie's age), so. Thirty-four. *shrug* And to explain why she didn't know after this long, I had both of his birthdays occurring while they were in jail, which added up to July. Plus duh Juice is a Cancer._

_And, of course, I changed some of the events re: the documents. As we know Jax DID punch Juice, but c'mon. It was bullshit. Also, he didn't tell Juice about JT or any of that, but. It's better for my purposes that it fall out this way._


	28. Dreams

Here we go again...

* * *

**i can list each crippling fear like i'm reading from a will**  
**and i'll defy every one and love you still **  
**i will carry you with me up every hill**  
**and if you die before i die**  
**i'll carve your name out of the sky**  
**i'll fall asleep with your memory and dream of where you lie**  
The Airborne Toxic Event, "The Graveyard Near the House"

She jerked out of the nightmare with a brief cry. The usual old one: running down a hall full of doors, and every door was locked. The one that finally opened revealed TJ with a huge grin on his face. Except this time it hadn't been TJ. It had been…a hand. That's all. A hand with a gold ring flying at her face.

It seemed her subconscious mind had a better memory of the attack than her conscious one did.

She scraped a shaking hand over her face and peered at the clock. Almost two. Where was Juice? She checked her phone but there were no missed calls. He must've gotten tied up with some club-related something. If he'd been hurt someone would have called. Unless, of course, Jax had changed his mind about letting him earn his way—

She cut that thought off before it fully formed and swung her legs out of bed. She padded down the hall and stopped at the bathroom. Her fingers rested briefly against the door before she turned and walked on.

In the kitchen she poured a glass of water and leaned against the counter to drink it. She felt anxious and antsy and uncomfortable in her own skin. She paced a circle from kitchen to living room to dining room to kitchen again.

Should she call him? And say what? That she was worried? She wasn't really that kind of—of girlfriend. If that was the right word. What other word was there? She squeezed the phone in her hand and set it on the counter. No. She'd just wait.

She wandered back to the bedroom and tried to sleep, but after a while she gave it up as no good. She flipped on the bedside lamp and grabbed her book. After half a chapter she threw it aside. Got out of bed again and prowled through the house like a restless cat.

She had no idea how long she'd been pacing and rearranging and fiddling when she heard his bike from down the street. Her eyes closed and she let out a sigh of relief. Part of her was surprised he was coming by this late: he knew she'd have to get out of bed to unlock everything, and usually he would call to tell her he was crashing at his place.

It was a night of oddities.

She opened the door and watched as he dismounted and almost fell. He fumbled with the strap on his helmet for a good minute before he managed it. Her brow creased as he lurched up the path. She rested a hand on her hip and frowned down at him.

"You show up at my door at almost three AM drunk as a skunk and expect me to let you in, Ortiz?"

He threw out his hands in a dramatic shrug. "I'm not drunk."

She snorted.

"A tiny bit drunk. Not much drunk."

"I can't believe you drove like this."

"_Barely_ drunk, Liv!"

She rolled her eyes and turned away. He stumbled up the steps and dropped onto the bench to get rid of his boots. She was at the door setting the locks when he wrapped his arm around her from behind. He kissed the back of her neck and she felt his tongue brush her skin.

"You're drunk, babe," she said. "Let's get you a glass of water and put you to bed."

"You can put me to bed," he rasped. He spun her around and pressed her against the door. His mouth was hot and hungry when he kissed her, and the taste of tequila was strong on his tongue.

She pushed him away and dodged his grasp as she went past him into the living room. He followed her into the kitchen while she poured a glass of water and knocked two aspirin from the bottle. She offered him both, and after a moment he took them and tossed the pills down.

"So," she said. "You gonna tell me what's up, or should I wait until you're more coherent?"

He brooded about it, staring down into the glass with a deep glower. "I had a little too much to drink."

"Did you?" Her head tilted. "How come?"

"I shoulda called and told you I'd be late."

She waved a hand. "Doesn't matter. But thank you for thinking of it."

"I wanted to call."

"What, someone stole your phone?"

His scowl deepened. "No. Fuck. Not like that. Just, there was shit."

"There always is," she said, mildly.

He looked up at her and his eyes were clearer than they'd been before. "You hate SAMCRO, don't you?"

"No, baby," she said. "I don't hate the club. I just…I wish things were better. I wish they didn't treat you like shit."

"They don't—"

"Remind me some time to show you the definition of an abusive relationship, Juicy. I think you'd learn a thing or two."

He slammed the glass down on the counter and stormed out of the kitchen. She shook her head and went after him. He was in the bedroom digging through a drawer. His drawer. He worked fast: he already had t-shirts scattered all over the floor.

"Babe, what are you doing?"

"Packing."

"Packing. Juice. You don't have a suitcase."

"Sort of packing."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead in a bid for patience. Grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the bed. He went only reluctantly, and he wouldn't look at her. She pulled him down beside her and he glared at the floor.

"Talk to me, love. What's going on?"

He sat sullenly, his hands balled into fists and his shoulders tight. She climbed up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest; pressed her cheek against his back. After a long time she felt him relax. His body shook and she held on tighter. He grabbed her good hand and their fingers tangled together.

She kissed the back of his neck and rested her nose there. He sniffed hard and shook his head.

"You don't want me, Liv. I'm no good for you. You woulda left months ago if it wasn't for me."

"Hhmm. Well, the last part is true: I _would_ have left months ago if it weren't for you. But the first part is complete bullshit. Because if I didn't want you, and if I thought you weren't good for me, I would've left anyway."

He swiped the heel of his hand across his face, a rough, angry gesture, and tried to pull away. She wouldn't let him.

"Talk to me, Ortiz. I'm not going anywhere."

He twisted toward her and she gestured for him to follow her up the bed. When he was settled against the pillows she straddled his lap and fixed him with an earnest stare. His hands dropped to her bare thighs and he frowned.

"It's really distracting when you do that."

"I'm just sitting here, Juicy. Besides, you're wasted."

"Not _that_ wasted. And you're really fucking beautiful." He leaned forward to kiss her but she avoided him.

"Nuh uh. Not this time. Story first."

He subsided with a sigh. She ran her fingers along his jaw and kissed him softly. He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips.

"We took Clay's patch."

"Oh—"

"Wait. That's not the bad part." His eyes went flinty and his grip tightened on her thigh until she squeaked. "Fuck," he muttered. He stroked her leg. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know. It's okay. Tell me the rest."

"We voted on Mayhem."

Her eyes went wide.

"It didn't pass." A bitter pause. "Bobby was the only _nay_."

She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly as his words sank in. "Juice. If you had voted no Jax would've been done with you. No more chances. No more making it right. He might not even have taken it to the table; just done something to make it look like an accident."

"You think so?" he said. His voice was lost and hopeless and it broke her heart.

"Yeah, love. I do," she said, gently.

He buried his hands in her hair and pressed their foreheads together. "Jax has a plan. He wants to frame Clay for Damon Pope's murder, and he wants me to help."

"Wait." He'd lost her. "I don't understand. How does Pope figure in to any of this?"

"Apparently the one thing that Jax still owes him is Tig. He won't shut up about it. He wants Tig dead for what Tig did to his daughter."

"Even though he turned around and burned Dawn alive?"

"Guy's an animal."

"It's the game," she said. "They're all like that."

"This isn't what I signed up for, Liv. I just wanted…" He trailed off and let his head fall back. He closed his eyes and scrubbed both hands over his face. "I just wanted someplace to belong. A family."

She remembered what she'd said to Tara that afternoon. "Family isn't supposed to hurt, baby."

"I've never had it any other way."

She grabbed his chin and lowered it until their eyes met. "You do now." She kissed his forehead. His nose. His mouth. "You're mine, Juicy, and I'm yours. Remember?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I remember. I just have a hard time believing it sometimes."

"Well you best start to, kid. Once I decide on somebody it's pretty hard to get rid of me."

He ran his hands up her back, underneath her shirt, and pulled her in for a kiss. "That so?" he said as his lips skimmed hers.

"Uh huh," she said and teased his tongue with her own.

"And when'd you decide on me?"

"Mmm…" Her head tilted as she considered. He placed small, sucking kisses up and down her neck. "A while ago, I'd say. Just took me a long time to realize it."

He paused and leaned back a little. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. As long as you promise to fill me in on Jax's plan before you get all distracted."

His brow quirked. "It's probably none of my business, and I'm not asking because I'm jealous—at least, not really—but I just.… Were you in love with Kitty?"

"Um. Oh. That wasn't what I was expecting." She went still and her eyes drifted away as she thought about it. "I wanted to be in love with her. I'm pretty sure at one point I'd convinced myself I was _falling_ in love with her. But—no."

He nodded slowly. "Because of me?"

Her mouth twisted. "Don't let it go to your head, Ortiz." She hitched a shoulder. "Yeah. Partially because of you. I never would've admitted it at the time, though."

His hands drifted lower to slide under the edge of her panties. She narrowed her eyes. "And what are you up to, sir?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just coppin' a feel."

"Hum." She wiggled a little. "You owe me info. Spill it."

He dropped his forehead to rest against her shoulder. "He wants me to get him one of Clay's guns. One that's actually legal and registered to him. He's gonna use that to kill Pope."

"Seems like there's potential for a lot of holes there. What if Clay alibis out?"

"He's got Gemma in on it, too. She's gonna lie about it."

"Wow," she said. "That is—wow." She shifted and he raised his head. "A guy like Pope, um…" Despite her best efforts, his hands on her ass—and what he was doing with them—were _incredibly_ distracting. "He doesn't have failsafes in place in case someone kills him? To go after the killer?"

"Yup." He kissed from her shoulder up to her ear. "Jax's expecting that."

"Ohh," she said, the syllable going breathy at the end as he ran his tongue around the curve of her ear. "Everyone will think Clay did it."

She cupped the back of his neck with her good hand and used her cast to push against his chest. She searched his face with worried eyes. "Are you going to do it?"

"What choice do I have? Like you said about the vote: if I don't do this, Jax'll kill me. Maybe take it to the table, maybe not, but either way I'm a dead man."

He hesitated. Cleared his throat and moved beneath her. "We could go."

Her eyes narrowed. "Leave, you mean?"

"Leave, I mean."

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "Fuck. No, we can't."

"Why not? Isn't that what you want?"

"Yeah. Yes, it's what I want. I want to get out of this place and away from the club, but—" She broke off and bit her lip.

"But what, Liv? I don't understand."

"I'm tired of running, Juice," she said after a moment. "If we leave now we'll be on the run from SoA for…ever, basically. I don't want to just take off in the middle of the night like fugitives. I want to make a clean break so we never have to look over our shoulders."

And there was Tara. She had made a promise today, and she always kept her promises. She couldn't leave Charming until she knew Tara and the boys were safe. She just hoped to hell she and Juice could stay alive in the meantime.

"I should hate him. He killed Piney. He set Tara up to get kidnapped. He was behind the home invasions and he's the reason you got hurt. I should be happy to help Jax with this shit."

"But…?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "It feels so shady. I voted to strip his patch and for Mayhem because that's how we do things. It's for the table to decide. To frame somebody for murder, though? All because of some crazy setup to get him taken out? It's just…it's not right."

"I think the rest of the club might feel the same way, and they all voted for Mayhem, too."

"They would vote the same way for me, Liv," he said in a low voice. "And I seriously doubt Bobby would save my ass."

"Chibs might."

"I don't know. He takes loyalty pretty seriously."

"It's not going to come to that, Juicy. You're right—you have to help Jax with this, but once you do you'll be square."

"Yeah. Square." His brows were drawn together and he shook his head. "Square with Jax. But what about Clay?"

"Baby, if you want me to speak up in Clay Morrow's defense, you've come to the wrong person."

"I know," he said with a wince. "I'm sorry."

She took his face in her hand and looked him in the eye. "It doesn't upset me that you're loyal to him, Juice. It's something I admire about you. You see the good in people. You want to believe in them. I wish I were more like that."

"Are you kidding?" he said, wide-eyed. "You're the one—"

"No. I assume the worst about everyone. The worst motives. The worst…I don't know." She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. "I try not to assume everyone's out to fuck everyone else over, but it's hard. I saved Clay's life that night because…because I couldn't do anything different, and because I wondered what you would do in my place."

"Fuck it up, probably."

"Stop," she said. "Don't say that anymore, okay? You don't deserve the shit they pile on you, and you sure as hell don't deserve the shit you pile on yourself."

"No?" He snorted. "What do I deserve, Liv?"

"I don't know," she said. Her smile had an edge to it. "Maybe a paranoid redhead with a cast on her arm, pins in her leg, and a raging case of PTSD. How's that sound?"

"Hum." He pretended to consider it. "How about a sexy redhead who can fix anything and doesn't take anyone's shit and has a knack for helping me clear my head?"

She let out a low ripple of laughter. "I'll help you clear your head, baby."

"Uh huh. I bet you will."

He kissed her through her giggles and she ran her hand over his scalp. He tried to tug her panties down, but she pulled away with a shake of her head.

"I don't think that's gonna work in this position. Unless you rip them. And I'd really rather you didn't." She could tell the idea intrigued him, and she swatted him on the arm. "Go to sleep, you drunkard. It's almost four in the morning."

"I told you I'm not drunk. Or, anyway, I'm plenty sober for panty-ripping."

"Really?" she said and lifted a brow.

He looked insulted. "I have never in my life been too drunk for sex, and I sure as fuck am not about to start now."

"Hhmm," she said, thoughtfully. She scooted back a little so that she could undo his belt. He smirked as she opened his fly and slid her hand down his pants.

"Told you," he said.

She threw back her head and laughed. "Considering how long you've had your hands on my ass, I'd be a little insulted if you weren't hard right now."

He patted it and gave a satisfied nod. "It's a very nice ass."

"Thanks. Yours is cute, too."

"Yup." He lifted her off his lap to sit next to him. "You've had your eye on my ass since the first night we met." He kicked his pants off and pulled his shirt over his head.

"This's true," she said. She stroked her hand up his chest and pressed a kiss against his warm skin. She loved the texture of it—smooth and surprisingly soft—and the color contrast against hers.

He sighed dolefully and tugged on her braid. "You must think I'm so easy. I put out the first night!"

"Baby, _I_ put out the first night."

"Yeah, but you're cute enough to get away with it."

"Ha. Someone apparently doesn't pay attention to all the crow eaters swooning in his wake."

He made a complex noise that fell somewhere between amusement and disbelief. Then he suddenly went very serious. "You know I don't care about any of that, babe. You're the only one for me."

She rolled her eyes. "Hard on or not, you're clearly very intoxicated."

"Come on, Liv, I'm serious." He tilted her chin and kissed her. "How many times do I have to say it? You're it for me."

"I don't know. I'm stubborn and I recently smacked my head. Say it again."

He grinned and brushed his mouth over hers. "You're it for me."

"Hhmm," she murmured. "I think it's becoming clearer."

He kissed her again, long and slow and sweet. He sucked on her lower lip. Nipped the upper one. Swirled his tongue around hers and ran his hands under the hem of her t-shirt. She pulled away long enough to get rid of it, and just before their mouths met again he stopped to look her in the eye.

"You and me, Liv," he said, his voice rough and a little breathless. "That's endgame."

"You and me, Juicy." She pressed her lips to his and pushed him back against the bed and slid on top of him.

Neither had much breath to speak after that for a long, long time.

* * *

They lay in bed together after, her good arm thrown across his middle and her cheek resting near the crook of his elbow. He bent his arm to pull her closer, and she made a sleepy, protesting noise. He grinned and turned on his side to curl around her.

"Hey, big spoon," she murmured.

"Hey, babe." His kissed her ear. "You asleep?"

"Not quite. Something on your mind?"

"I just—I wanted to tell you that when you're ready to go, I'm with you."

She stilled. "Situations change, Juicy," she said, carefully. "Don't make promises you might not be able to keep."

He nuzzled the side of her neck with a bemused smile. "Try to trust me, Olivia. I know it's not easy for you, but try."

She was quiet for so long he thought she might have fallen asleep. Since the attack she tended to drop off suddenly, without a lot of pre-show. But then she stirred and twined her fingers through his.

"You're one of the few people I _do_ trust, Juice."

"Okay, then. Believe me when I say when you're ready to go, I am too."

"It's not you I have trouble believing, baby. It's this place. Once you're in, it's hard to escape. It's fucking Hotel California come to life."

"Then we'll burn it down on our way out," he said, only half joking.

She closed her eyes and squeezed his hand. "There's something I need to tell you, and it's going to put you in an awkward situation."

"More awkward than I'm in now?"

"It's about Tara. And Jax. And you cannot breathe a word of this to _anyone_ in the club. If you don't want me to tell you, say now. I'll understand."

He frowned and his arm tightened around her. He pressed a feather-soft kiss to the spot where they'd drilled into her head. "Tell me."

She sighed and filled him in on her conversation that afternoon with Tara. She told him about Otto (apparently Jax hadn't felt the need to share that with the whole table) and the job in Portland. Tara's plan to get the boys out without Jax knowing.

"I can't leave until I know she and the boys are safe, Juice. I promised I'd help her." She hesitated. "And I also told her I wouldn't tell you about it."

"Fuck me," he whispered.

"I bet you're wishing now that I hadn't."

"No. No, I'm glad you did. Just—Jax's family is everything to him."

A pause. "Is it?" she said, quietly. "Every time he has a choice between family and club, he chooses club. He chooses SAMCRO and promises Tara it's all for her and the boys. He tells her just one more time, one more thing, one more…and now, because she believed in him, she could be charged with conspiracy. Who will take care of the boys then? Gemma? _Really_? After that shit in the car?"

He propped himself up on his elbow to peer down at her face. "You like Gemma, I thought."

"Gemma is—Gemma. A force of nature. I admire her in some ways and fear her in others. I don't trust her as far as I could throw her, and she's got a good six inches on me. Tara doesn't want Thomas and Abel to turn out like Jax. How else would Jax's mother raise them?"

"I guess it's different when you have kids," he said after a moment. "Your priorities change."

He didn't mean it as any sort of rebuke, and she didn't take it as one, but still some part of her winced. "I'm not asking for your help, babe. In fact you need to stay out of it. Plausible deniability and all that crap. I just…I wanted you to know why I have to stay right now."

He studied her a moment longer, his brow furrowed and his eyes worried. At last he settled and pulled her to him again. "Okay, Liv. Do what you gotta do. I'm here."

She kissed the back of his hand. "I love you, Juicy."

"I love you, too," he said softly. "You're mine."

"And you're mine. I keep my promise to Tara, and then we're out."

He believed her. He really did. But he felt a sudden foreboding, an intense ache like he'd been elbowed in the gut. Nothing in Charming worked out the way anyone ever planned it. Tara wanted out. Olivia was going to help her.

Why did he think it would somehow, despite everyone's best intentions, end bloody?

Things here always did.

* * *

_God every time I think I'm done w s5 I remember something else that has to happen. Next chapter WILL have s6, but the first little bit of it. Will still be. Season 5. I'm dying here._

_In other news, I never expected these two to be so **cute** together. I apologize._


	29. All I Did

I'm gonna go ahead and apologize right here for the extensive end notes. One does not write a magnum opus (as this is turning into) without accumulating some thoughts.

Thanks so much for the reviews! You're all lovely. :D

* * *

**i told her people had been talking **  
**about how dark she was inside **  
**she said my hopes are buried **  
**in the soil deep in the earth outside **  
**and with one twist of the world **  
**she brought me to her side **  
**she asked me for the truth one time **  
**and all i did was lied**  
David Gray, "Lead Me Upstairs"

Juice kept her up to date on the progress with Jax' plan to frame Clay, and the day it all was scheduled to go down she went with him to Clay's place. Apparently he planned to hole up in Belfast for a while, a few months, and he'd asked Gemma to go with him. Olivia hadn't talked to her, but she'd seen her tense face and the grim, determined set to her mouth.

She played whatever role Jax had asked her to, and it wore on her. Olivia remembered what she'd said to him the night of Opie's wake: _you would use literally anyone to get what you want, wouldn't you?_ Despite how spectacularly wrong things had gone with Otto (at least from Tara's point of view), Jax obviously hadn't learned any sort of lesson. Now his mother was caught in the middle of his revenge vendetta against Clay, and instead of being able to move on as she wanted, she was forced to pretend to still love a man she loathed.

The worst part of the whole thing was that Olivia had to admire Jax' balls. The plan was—as she'd said about the one to kill Stahl, something that had also been his idea—Machiavellian. And, after all, what had Machiavelli said? _It's better to be feared than loved._

The way Jax was going, he could write his own modern version of _The Prince_, sell three million copies, and give up his life of crime to retire to the Poconos.

And he'd learned it all from the very man he was trying to take down. It wasn't his father's footsteps he walked in; it was Clarence Morrow's. If Jax weren't careful one day he'd be the only one left amidst the ashes and smoke his scheming wrought.

She shook off her morbid, melodramatic thoughts and summoned up a smile for Juice. She knew how all of this weighed on him. It was obvious for anyone to see, but of course no one ever really looked at Juice Ortiz.

More's the pity.

They were, at the moment, cleaning out Clay's garage. She had paused to admire his tools. Everything was clean and shining and in its place. Just how she liked her workshop.

"Hey, Clay," she called into the house.

He ambled out to the garage and Juice slipped past him inside. He hadn't been able to look Clay in the face all day, and he'd largely avoided him except for a brief conversation earlier in the hallway.

Clay watched him go with a distracted frown before he turned his attention to her. "Hey, Ollie."

She jerked her chin toward the pegboard. "You taking all these tools with you to Ireland?"

"Fuck no. You want 'em?"

Her mouth twisted. It felt kinda shitty to take a man's tools just before you helped ship him off to prison, but he sure as hell wasn't going to need them in there. "The socket set's nice. Too hard to travel with, so I haven't had one of my own since I was a kid."

"Yeah," he said. "Take it. Take the drill, too. I'm sure you can find a use for it."

She had a drill, but she smiled anyway and grabbed it to pack.

"Tell me somethin', Ollie," Clay said. He propped a hip on the counter and she tilted her head in his direction. "How'd you get to be a mechanic? Don't take this the wrong way, but it's not all that often you see chicks workin' on cars. And you're good at it."

"Um." She wanted to make a comment about traditional gender roles and bullshit assumptions based on them, but she decided to let that slide for now. "My grandpa," she said. "He"—she laughed, and her eyes sparkled with genuine humor and affection at the memory—"he had a D-Phil in Shakespearean Lit from St. Andrews, in Scotland, but he quit teaching to open a car shop. Classics only. I was the only grandkid, so he taught me just about everything I know. He died when I was ten, and after that my dad took over."

"What the fuck's a D-Phil ?"

"Oh. It's what they call a Ph.D. You know, a doctorate."

"Your granddaddy went to school long enough to get his fuckin' doctorate in fuckin' Shakespeare, and then he gave it all up to fix cars?"

"It was his passion," she said. "Well, his _other_ passion. Cars were his first love, Shakespeare his second. Even though, he always bitched, Shakespeare was English."

"Ha!" Clay said, a bark of a laugh. "Sounds like he and Chibs woulda got along."

"Yeah. Scots, man. They're a breed apart."

"Truth," he said. A brief silence fell and he watched her as she worked. Then, his voice sober and his face furrowed, he said, "Ollie, listen. I know we've had our differences—"

"You're the reason I'm in this cast, Clay," she said, calmly.

He flinched. "Yeah. What happened there is on me, and I accept that."

She lifted a brow. "Good to know." She put down the box she'd just packed and fixed him with wary eyes. "Your point?"

"I just want…I wanted to tell you I think you've been good for Juicy. He seems happier with you. Steadier."

She blinked but said nothing. He hurried to fill the silence.

"That boy's like a son to me."

"Have you told him that? It's something he might like to hear."

He frowned and looked away. "Just now. I shoulda told him sooner, and I shoulda treated him better." He hesitated. "Take care of him, Ollie. Look after him.

Her smile was brief and humorless. She went back to packing. "That's what I do, Clay." Another pause as she met his gaze again. "That's what anyone does, when they love someone."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the doorbell interrupted him. She tensed. It had to be Eli. He frowned and she followed him into the house. Juice was in the hallway. He had his hands buried in his cut to hide their shaking and his face was an agony of regret. He wouldn't look at her when she touched his arm, but she grabbed his hand anyway and held on.

It was Roosevelt, as she'd predicted. He confronted Clay about the gun, which he admitted was his, but he claimed Gemma as his alibi. He didn't mention Olivia or Juice, who had also been there all day, and she wondered if they'd be spared from having to look Eli in the face and lie to him. She hoped so. As much as she disliked Clay, it had been hard enough lying to _him_ all day. And Eli was smart enough to know Clay wouldn't use his own gun to kill anyone, much less a guy like Damon Pope.

Gemma's voice floated from the living room. She said Clay had gone out for a few hours earlier in the day and had taken the gun with him. Stunned silence followed, and then the click of bracelets as Roosevelt read Clay his rights.

Juice pulled away and sank to the floor, his head cradled in his hands. She knelt next to him. He resisted at first, but finally he gave up and collapsed against her. They were still and quiet as Clay was led away, and all she could do was press a kiss to the side of his head and hope all of this would be worth it.

There was a long silence from the living room after they left, and finally Gemma appeared in the hall. She stepped closer, but Olivia pulled Juice to his feet and tugged him toward the door.

"Ollie—"

She spun around, her eyes spitting fire and her cheeks flushed. "No, Gemma. Don't start. You don't have anything to say to either of us right now. I think your family has done enough damage for one day."

"I would have left Juice out of it if it were up to me," she said after a moment, her voice weary.

She opened her mouth to speak but snapped it shut again. There was nothing she could say right now that would make any difference. She was too furious for coherence, the type of rage that could do a fuckload of damage, and she was afraid she might accidentally spill Juice's secret. Instead she took his hand again and smiled up at him, the expression incongruously soft against the anger in her eyes.

"Let's go," she said, gently.

In the driveway he helped her fasten the helmet, and as he leaned close she studied his face. His eyes were bleak and stunned, but when he started to kiss her, she gave a quick, sharp shake of her head.

"Not here," she murmured.

He glanced back and saw Gemma in the garage, one hand on her hip and the other arm wrapped around her stomach. Olivia's look was clear: it had nothing to do with any secret they were or weren't trying to keep. It was, in that moment, more about keeping what was theirs _theirs_, without anyone else's opinions or influence. For the first time he fully understood why she was so resistant to being his old lady, and after everything that had happened, he couldn't blame her.

* * *

She managed to get food in him once they got back to her place: tomato soup and a grilled cheese, the most soothing meal she could think of. She added a cup of chamomile tea, but he made a face and asked for beer, so she switched it out and drank it herself.

He stared down at the scarred wooden table—reclaimed, because damn if she was going to spend a fortune on furniture—and traced the initials that had been carved in long ago. She ate the last bite of sandwich and sat back in her chair to sip her tea. They were quiet. Birdsong filtered through the open window and the occasional car drove past. She was content to let him mull it over, and as long as she had her eye on him he couldn't get up to too much trouble.

"How long do you think he's got?" he said at last.

She shifted in her seat. "The Irish want him alive. Maybe they'll be able to arrange some kind of protection."

He raised his head and fixed her with a long look. "You really think so?"

"There's a chance. The IRA has connections everywhere." She set down her mug. "Come on. I've got an idea."

"What kind of idea?" he said, but he followed her down the hall anyway. She stopped at the bathroom and pulled him in after her.

"You need a bath."

"Do I stink?"

She laughed a little. "No. Not that kinda bath. More a 'forget all your worries for twenty minutes' kinda bath."

She had avoided the bathroom as much as possible since the attack. No long baths, just quick showers. She did her business and got out, and the door was always locked behind her. Now she left it open as she tugged his shirt out of his belt.

"Babe—"

"Trust me," she said. She helped him strip and started the water. He stood in the middle of the small room and stared at his feet as she dug through the cabinet above the toilet. "I know I've got some bath stuff in here that doesn't smell too girly. Ah! Here we go. Frankincense and myrrh bath beads."

His face scrunched. "You mean like what the Wise Men brought Jesus?"

"The same. People talk about how unpractical those gifts were, but think about it. They'd been living in a stable for like three months. Air freshener was probably greatly appreciated."

She dropped the beads in the tub and as they melted a warm, spicy fragrance filled the air. She lifted a brow at him. "It doesn't work unless you get in."

"Oh." His movements were slow and jerky, like a windup toy running out. He slid into the water and closed his eyes a moment. "It does feel pretty good," he admitted.

"Told you," she said. She leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

"You could get in with me," he said.

A brief frown flashed across her face. "I—" She broke off and bit her lip a little.

"It's okay. Never mind. I'll just—"

"No," she said with a twist of her mouth. "No, don't be silly. Give me a sec to wrap my cast and I'll be right back."

She disappeared down the hall. He ran his fingers through the water and listened to her putter around in the kitchen. He took in a deep breath and sank. He opened his eyes, but the oil stung and he screwed them shut again. It was quiet beneath the water. Warm and peaceful. Part of him wanted to stay under. Float away and forget. Even as his lungs started to burn he didn't surface, and it was only when he heard Olivia's voice that he pushed himself up again.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"Underwater?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "Not like I could've drowned myself anyway. Doesn't work like that."

"I know full well how it _works_, Juan Carlos."

He flinched. She never called him that.

She smoothed the plastic wrap around her cast and tucked the ends in before she yanked her clothes off. She stood there, naked and furious, and for a minute he thought she might not get in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean anything. Come here. Please?" He held out a hand and finally she took it. He helped her into the tub and she sat in front of him, his legs around her and her head against his shoulder.

He pressed his lips to her temple. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Don't apologize," she said. "I know you're sad and depressed. I know you feel like you did the wrong thing today, and honestly I can't help you with that one. I don't know what the right thing actually was, if there was one. I do know how hard all of this has been. But, Juice, try to remember something."

He trailed his fingers down her arm, dripping warm, silky water onto her skin. "What's that?"

"You can always come home to me. No matter what happens, you can always come home."

He buried his nose in her hair and tried to swallow back the tears that threatened. "I shoulda warned him. I almost did, when we talked earlier. He told me I was like a son to him. That he loved me. I'm shit, Olivia. I should've just said fuck it and grabbed you and grabbed him and we all coulda made a run for Belfast."

"One big happy family," she said.

He shifted and his body was slippery from the bath oil. The glide of skin against skin was momentarily distracting for both of them, but he shook his head and tried to focus. "I know it would've been weird. I know how you feel about him. But I couldn't leave without you, and if I stayed here—"

"It wasn't an option, Juice. I mean, yeah, I guess it was, but then what? You help Clay Morrow smuggle Irish guns into the US? I thought you wanted to be done with that."

"I did. I do. I just…"

"I know, love," she said and turned her head to kiss his bicep—the only part of him she could reach from this position. She bit her lip, and when she spoke again her voice was hesitant. "What do you think Clay would have wanted you to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if you'd gone to him after Jax told you his plan. What would he have said?"

He shrugged and the water rippled. "I don't know. He—he probably would've gone to Ireland a day sooner."

Her mouth quirked. "No doubt."

He knew that wasn't what she'd meant, though. "He would've told me to do it. I mean, yeah, he wouldn't have hung around to get arrested, but he would have told me to do what Jax wanted so I could get back in."

She tilted her head. "He wouldn't have asked you to go to Ireland with him?"

"Maybe," he said. "But he'd have to know I'd say no. I've got ties here."

"Yeah?" she said, her voice soft.

He pulled the pins from her hair so that the long braid tumbled down. He wrapped it around his hand and tugged not enough to hurt, but just so she could feel it. "Yeah," he said.

She let out a breath and twisted around to face him. "Juice, I want you to promise me something."

He let go of her hair and moved her until she was in his lap with her legs wrapped around him. She raised a brow and his lips curved. "Anything. And not just because you're naked and on top of me."

She let out an exasperated sigh, but her mouth twitched as she tried to smother a smile. "It's important, Ortiz, pay attention."

"Believe me, Gable, you've got my complete and full attention. I am _at_ attention."

"Um hum. Don't need to tell me." She smacked his chest and rolled her eyes. "No, okay, I'm focused." She cleared her throat and her expression stilled.

"Juicy, listen. If it ever comes down to it and you have to choose between the club or me—"

"You, Liv, no question."

"No," she said. She squeezed his upper arm. "I need you to promise the opposite, Juice. You'll choose the club. If it's the difference between life or death, like this was, you choose life. Do you hear me?"

"I don't understand," he said.

"You're not going to throw your life away in some misguided—albeit noble—effort to save me, Ortiz. Got it? I mean, let's say Jax found out I'm trying to help Tara leave. What do you think he would do?"

His eyes widened. "He wouldn't _kill_ you!"

"No? You sure about that?"

"Olivia—" He broke off and glanced away. There was a deep crease between his brows and his lips were pursed. "You gotta understand, Liv. I've spent the last seven years of my life—two as a groupie, one as a prospect, and four as a full patch member—thinking this club was the center of the universe. Nothing else mattered. I didn't _need_ anything else."

He paused to swallow around the lump in his throat. When he looked at her again, tears stood in his eyes. "I get it now, though. I might need them, but they sure as fuck don't need me. They never have." He gave an angry jerk of his head. "No one does."

"Juice—"

"Don't. I know what you're gonna say. I'm not saying they're not my friends, or my brothers, but that's not the same thing. Clay was the last person left who needed me, and I fucked him over today. What does that make me?"

"An idiot," she said in a thick voice.

He drew back and stared at her. "Well, I mean, yeah, but—"

She shut him up with her mouth, her lips hot and honey-sweet. The water danced as she wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed her body tight against his. She was soft and warm and slippery from the oil, and his hands slicked down her back almost of their own accord.

"_I_ need you, Juice," she said when they came up for air. "Do you hear me? I thought my life was fine before. Yeah I kinda wanted to find a place where I could settle and stop running, but other than that I was okay. I had my car and my work and some friends here or there. What else did I need?

"Then I met you and it was like—I don't know. I'm not a fucking poet. You know when you've been craving a specific food, or you've had a certain song stuck in your head forever, but you can't name the song and you can't figure out what the food is? Then you eat it or you hear it and it's like, 'Oh. There you are. How did I not recognize you before?' It's so _easy_ and so right and you can't even remember what anything else used to taste like."

She shoved furiously at the tear that made its way down her cheek. "I don't want my life without you in it. You're under my skin and in my blood and I smell you in my hair and hear your voice in my head. I need you, Juice. And if Jackson Teller ever makes you choose between that fucking club and _me_, you choose the club because I'd rather…be somewhere else…and know you were safe and okay than have to put you in the ground."

He gaped at her.

She sniffled and her eyes flicked away. "I've never said anything like that to anyone before." She sounded supremely grumpy.

He couldn't have been more surprised if she'd hit him over the head with a two by four. He knew exactly what she meant because it was everything he had all jumbled up inside his head and couldn't make into words. He wanted her. He loved her. He needed her. And he had no idea how to reconcile all of it with the commitment he had to SAMCRO.

"I don't know if I can promise you that, Olivia," he said at last.

Her jaw tightened and her throat worked and after a moment she gave a short, wordless nod. "No, I get it," she said. "It's too much. I should—"

She started to get up, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back down again. "Now who's the idiot?" He kissed her forehead and brushed her damp hair back from her face. "I'm not promising you that, Liv. In the past six months I've betrayed my club. Killed a brother. Sold out one of the few people who still believed in me. You're the only person I haven't fucked over, and I came real close to it a couple times. I'm not ever—_ever_—going to choose SAMCRO over you. Get that?

"I'm done acting like there aren't options. There are. There's gotta be. If it ever came down to it, we'd think of something else. That's what I'll promise you. We'll think of something else."

He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. His fingers had gone pruny and the water was getting cold, but he didn't care. She held him with one arm, her other elbow propped on his shoulder, and they stayed like that for a long time.

At last she pulled away, and this time when she rose he let her. She stepped out of the tub and stood on the bathmat as the water dripped off her body. He watched with a dry mouth while she ran a towel across her skin. She tossed it over the bar and sauntered into the hall.

He was still in the tub when she stuck her head around the door. "You coming to bed, or were you planning to stew a little longer?"

He jumped up so fast he almost slipped. "On my way! Don't start without me!"

Her laugh floated from the bedroom. "Too late for that, sugar."

* * *

_Here are my notes for the last three chapters:_

_27: Yay, time for s6. C beats up J etc._

_28: Okay, no, time for s6. See longer notes._

_29: Yay! Done with s5 on to s6! C beats up J and see longer notes._

_30: NO FOR REAL THIS TIME S6 GODDAMMIT_

_Every time I thought I was done w s5 I remembered something important I had to cover. The moment when Juice betrays Clay here is, according to a really good interview I read with Theo Rossi, the huge turning point for Juice. I had sort of maybe forgotten the importance of it in my rush to get to the betrayal near the end of s6 (which I think was another sort of turning point, and just as big in its own way), so I was glad to read that so I could go back over it. Of course, it was huge for show-Juice because it meant he'd burned the last bridge he had left, betrayed the last person who loved and believed in him. Our Juice has a safety net. Which, duh, is the whole point of me writing this fucking story!_

_Also, the story Olivia told about her grandfather is based on someone I actually know. He had a PhD in English Lit and gave up teaching to open a classic car garage. *shrug* Made him happy._


	30. A Dull Ache

We're 30 chapters and over 100k words in at this point, so I think you guys get that I'm changin' some shit up. No further disclaimers about such will follow, because by now it feels repetitive. :)

We're finally in season 6! Yaaayy! Happy reading. :)

* * *

**you're a long walk in a rain storm**  
**you're a cut that refuses to heal**  
**you're a dull ache that i can't shake**  
**you're a cold that's clogging up my head**  
**or a broke watch keeping time still**  
**till you pull me in pull me in**  
**and i can't fight**  
Better Than Ezra, "Daylight"

Juice had gone with Rat and Bobby up to Indian Hills for a few days, apparently to get Bobby moved in to a new place. He had stepped down as the club's VP and Chibs had taken the position. Happy was the new Sergeant-at-Arms, which Olivia thought was like asking an alcoholic to run a bar, but it wasn't like her opinion mattered. Tara and Clay were both in jail…but at least no one had died in the past few weeks.

Olivia's cast was off and though there was still some stiffness in her wrist and fingers, physical therapy was helping with that. Her grip wasn't what it used to be, but the doctor assured her it would come back with time.

For lack of anything better to do, she went back to work. She did simple things around the garage for now—oil changes, tune ups—things that didn't require a huge amount of strength or dexterity. It frustrated her, but she knew she had to take it slow or risk making it worse. Everyone teased her about it, called her _lefty_ and other dumb names. She pretended that it annoyed her, but really it helped. Normalized it. Took away some of the sting and stigma. As if there should be stigma attached to the _victim_ of a violent crime.

Victim blaming was, of course, a huge part of any abuser's MO, and TJ had been a champ at it.

_You drove me to this._

_Why do you make me do these things?_

_You know I hate to hurt you._

She'd heard them all, plus some new and inventive ones, over the course of their marriage. In the intervening years she'd fought hard to overcome that mentality, and she'd largely succeeded—but the attack had caused some backsliding. The hospital shrink had warned her it would (it was pretty obvious to anyone with access to her X-rays what her history included, and she hadn't seen the point of playing cagey), and part of the overall recovery from it was getting her _mind_ back to normal as much as her body.

The teasing. The stupid nicknames. The pranks (there had been a couple). It all helped. It felt normal. That's what she wanted more than anything: to feel normal again. Or at least the way she had felt before, which while it wasn't perfect had at least been better than this.

There were no customers that morning, so Olivia left Wade in charge and went to the clubhouse to play a few hands. It was quiet, but Tig and Happy were there and more than willing to sit down for a game. Tig still claimed he needed to win his money back. At this point, she thought, they might be pretty close to even.

They'd been playing nearly half an hour. Tig kept looking at Happy. Happy would make a face at him and he would sit back in his chair with a troubled sigh. He was restless and distracted, and she wished he'd just say whatever was on his mind and get it over with. Finally, despite Happy's glower, he did.

"Hey, Ollie," he said, his tone casual, "I wanna ask you a question. It's totally inappropriate and possibly deeply offensive, so I thought I'd warn you first. You know, give you the option to tell me to shut the fuck up."

She cut her eyes at him and tossed down two cards. Happy swapped them out and she added the new ones to her hand. "I'm almost afraid to hear it, but…go ahead."

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. His expression was solemn and intense, and he peered at her through inquisitive blue eyes. She braced herself, and when he finally spoke again she wasn't entirely surprised. Men—especially straight men—were literally all the same.

"Do you like eating pussy?" he said, earnestly. "I mean, actually _like_ it, not just 'oh, here it is so I guess I better do this.' You get me?"

It didn't sound like some sort of come on or an attempt to make a crude joke; he seemed genuinely curious, and that's what made the difference in her response.

She took one last look at her hand before she dropped the cards on the table. "I fold." She turned toward him and lifted a brow. "That's seriously your question?"

He held up his hands. "I'm just wonderin'. I thought it would be a requirement for d—uh, lesbians, but Hap says no, some of them don't."

She glanced at Happy and he pushed back from the table. "Don't drag me into this," he said with a glare at Tig. "I told him to drop it."

Olivia cleared her throat and smoothed her hands down her jeans. When she spoke her voice was measured and precise. "First of all, Tig, I'm not a lesbian. Secondly, just as not all men enjoy performing cunnilingus, I'm sure there are women who feel the same way."

She paused and tilted her head. "I am not one of those women, however. To answer your question, I enjoy both eating pussy and sucking cock. I have a bit of an oral fixation. I also enjoy—because I have a feeling this'll be your next question—when my partner of either gender goes down on me."

"Who's better at it, men or women?" Happy said.

She snorted. "I have more experience with women, so that's probably not a fair question."

"So chicks, then," Tig said. "Yeah, I knew it. Unfair advantage."

"I don't know," she said. Suddenly she was trying not to blush. "Some men are actually very good at it. I think if you just apply yourself, sugar, you'll do fine. Enthusiasm can take you a long way."

He stared at her, wide eyed, and she had to laugh at his stunned expression. "I'm not—I mean—I've never had any complaints. I eat pussy like a champ! I'll eat pussy all night long! I could live on a diet of pussy!"

She waved a hand to shut him up, but she was still laughing. "I'm sure that's true," she said. She sighed and shook her head. "You're lucky you're cute, Tiggy, because honestly."

"You know I didn't mean any disrespect, Ollie. I was just curious."

"I know," she said as she spun back to the table. "I imagine I'll feel better about the whole thing after I take all your money."

"You folded! Looks like I'm takin' your money this time. Three eights."

"Not so fast," Happy said as Tig reached for the pot. He dropped his cards on the table with a shit-eating grin. "Full house, Jacks over nines."

"Goddammit," Tig said.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to the game and less attention to my hypothetical sex life, huh?"

He gave a low grunt of agreement and she grinned. He grumbled as he gathered the cards to deal. Happy crowed over his victory.

"You don't play for shit, Tig. Don't know why you bother."

Olivia missed his reply, because just then the clubhouse door opened and Lyla stumbled in. Her face was cut and battered. There were burn marks on her arms and chest. She was hunched over like an old woman with an arm around her middle and her blond hair tangled and wild. Olivia stared at her and jumped up so fast her chair toppled. Happy and Tig, startled, sprang to their feet and reached for their guns before they even knew what she was looking at.

She ignored them and went straight for Lyla.

"My God, honey, what happened?" she said, her voice soft but urgent.

She said nothing, just ducked her head so that her hair fell across her face in a curtain. Her teeth dug into her lip and she leaned into Olivia's shoulder.

"It's okay," she said. "You don't have to talk about it. You're safe now. You're safe, and we're going to take care of you."

"No, Ollie, it's—" She shook her head. Her voice was muffled by tears and pain. "It's not quite what it looks like. I just need to sit down."

"Okay, love. How about some tea, maybe?"

"Tea would be nice."

Tig and Happy stood nearby, mouths agape and guns hanging awkwardly. She cast a sharp look at each of them. "Hap, go find Chibs. I might need his help with my wrist like it is. Tig, hit the kitchen and make her a cup of tea. Grab the first aid kit while you're in there. We'll be in the office."

She took a trembling, wide-eyed Lyla gently by the arm and started to lead her down the hall. Happy and Tig hadn't moved. She threw out her arm. "_Go_!"

They went.

At her knock Jax opened the door with a rebuke half-formed on his lips—he and Gemma had been in deep discussion about something (probably Tara), and he resented the interruption. When he saw Lyla his face fell and his eyes went wide.

"Holy shit," he said. "What the fuck happened?"

"I think she only wants to tell it once," Olivia said. "Can we come in?"

"Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, of course." He backed away and Olivia led her to the couch.

Gemma started forward with a small sound of concern, but she stopped short. She and Olivia hadn't exactly been buddies since the shit went down at Clay's the other day, and she didn't want their issues to upset Lyla. She hung back to wait, and once Olivia got Lyla settled on the couch with a blanket draped over her shoulders, Gemma sank down next to her.

Tig burst in with the first aid kit and a steaming mug. He held them out like a temple offering. Jax scraped a hand down his face and shook his head. He lowered himself onto the petrified wood table across from them and watched Olivia work.

"Darlin'," he said in his gentlest voice, "you ready to talk about it?"

Lyla cringed as Olivia applied ointment to one of the burns. "Sorry, love," she said. "I've got to clean these out." She frowned. "Cigarettes?"

She nodded and Olivia grimaced.

"Thought so. What are these?"

"Car battery," she said. "The, you know. The jumper cables."

"What the _fuck_?" Tig spat.

Lyla dabbed at her nose with the tissue Gemma offered and launched into her story. She told them about the girl at Diosa who had hooked her up with a job, and how the job had turned out to be nothing like she'd expected. "Torture porn," she said through tears. "It was awful. They had me tied to a bed, and they—"

She broke off and Gemma ran a soothing hand down her hair. "We can see what they did, baby. You don't have to explain."

Her eyes met Olivia's over Lyla's head, and the younger woman was pale and grim-faced. Gemma started to ask if she were okay, but a quick jerk of Olivia's head stopped her.

"Where were they?" Tig said. His fists were clenched and you could practically hear his teeth grinding from across the room.

Happy and Chibs appeared in the doorway before she could answer. Chibs let out a long stream of truly inventive and filthy curses, but a hard look from Olivia shut him up fast.

"Stockton," Lyla said. "A warehouse at the docks. I left all my stuff there, so I don't know the address. The girl who got me the job would."

"Right," said Jax. "Mom, I need you to come with me to Diosa. Nero has connections in Stockton, right?"

"Yeah, from his old gang-running days."

"Great," he said. "Chibs, Happy, Tig, you're all with me. Are Rat and Juice back from Indian Hills yet?"

"Not till later tonight," Chibs said. "I could call them, have 'em head back early."

"Nah," Jax said. "We can handle it. They need to get things square with Bobby."

His tone softened. "Stay here with Ollie, darlin'. She'll take care of you," he said to Lyla. He pinned Olivia with a look. "You gonna be okay here?"

"Yeah, of course." She flicked her fingers. "Go."

They hustled out without further ado and Olivia offered Lyla a smile. "They're awfully efficient when they want to be."

She agreed with a brief roll of her eyes. Then, concerned: "You okay?"

What a thing to ask. She smiled ruefully. "I'm pissed and worried, but yeah. Of course."

"You seem kinda shaky."

"Oh. Um. Still not back to one hundred percent. With the wrist, you know."

"Hum," Lyla said. She paused and caught Olivia's hand in hers. Her voice dropped and tears threatened again. "Did you go through six years of shit like this, Ollie? I'm serious."

"No," she said, quietly. "No, not like this. He was very careful not to mark me."

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel better."

She cleared her throat and kept her eyes away from Lyla's. "He used cigarettes once," she said after a while. "On my back. I still have the scars. But mostly it was things that wouldn't leave permanent damage."

There was a long pause. Then, "It wasn't like it was every day. I mean, if it had been I probably would've gotten out a lot sooner. I had days like this." She nodded toward Lyla's injuries. "I had days that were worse, every now and then, and days that were bad but not _as_ bad."

Her mouth quirked and she eased her fingers from Lyla's grasp. She worked at cutting out a bandage, and when she looked back her eyes were sad. "The worst part is remembering the good days. Because there were a lot of them. It's just one of those things, right? Like, um. The Patty Hearst thing. Stockholm Syndrome. He gives you just enough of the good stuff—a kind word or a soft touch or even a gift—to keep you thinking he really _does_ love you, and that when he hurts you it really _is_ your fault."

She waved a hand and brushed at her face. "I'm sorry. Don't worry about that now, love. It was a long time ago. Let's just concentrate on getting you cleaned up. Drink your tea. It'll help your throat."

"I guess I've been lucky," Lyla said after a moment. "This is the first time I've ever—" She stopped and squeezed the mug with both hands. "Never realized how much I'd miss the girl/girl stuff."

"Ha. Yeah. Been there." Olivia tilted her head. "I imagine if you fucked men on camera for a living you might not have a lot of use for them _off_ camera."

"You think it works that way?"

"No. That's not how it worked for me. I knew I was bi before I even met TJ. But after, I spent about six years not getting much closer to a man than from here to that table."

"Until Juice," Lyla said with a little grin. She'd been trying to get them together for ages before it finally happened, and for all Olivia knew by now she was planning their wedding and picking out names for their (never-to-exist) kids.

"Yeah," she said with a huff. "Until Juice. Weird how things happen."

"Mmhmm," Lyla said, thinking of Opie. "When you least expect it—bam."

"_Bam_," Olivia agreed. "That about covers it."

* * *

Olivia glanced down at her ringing phone and smiled. "Hey," she said when she picked up, her warm voice conveying a hundred things in that small word.

"Hey," Juice replied. "We're finally back in Charming. Everything good?"

"Um…it was a weird day, kinda. I'd rather not talk about it over the phone, though."

He hesitated. Then, "Okay. I'm at TM now, but after I talk to Jax I'm out. You at home?"

"Uh huh. In the back, so just come around when you get here. I'll have the light on for you."

"See you soon. Oh—and, hey. I missed you."

She let out a soft laugh. "I missed you too." They said their goodbyes and hung up.

She stretched out on the blanket she'd spread under the water oak. The leaves above her shimmered and danced in the moonlight. It was a peaceful night, still and quiet, and she could hear an owl hooting somewhere nearby. The scent of night blooming jasmine wafted from the pot of it on the porch.

Despite all of that, she couldn't relax. She kept seeing Lyla in her mind's eye, burned and bruised and bloodied. It stirred up old memories; old fears. When she'd locked the front door that evening, the bolt going home had recalled the snick and scrape when TJ would lock her in her room at night. Being behind the barred door in her own home had freaked her out, so she'd fled to the backyard and the open air.

The locks that were supposed to make her feel safe had made her feel like a prisoner instead.

She closed her eyes and let the night sounds fill her. California nights and Georgia nights were very different, especially this time of year. She took comfort in that, and in the cool nip to the air and the musical, mournful sound of the owl.

When Juice found her half an hour later she hadn't moved. She'd almost dozed off, in fact, but the sound of his bike in the driveway roused her. She sat up as he approached and her smile was so dazzling he couldn't help but grin back. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before he squatted beside her knees.

"Nice night," he said.

"It is now. How was the trip?"

He sighed and dropped down onto his ass. "I don't know. Fine, I guess. I'm worried about Bobby."

She tapped a finger against his boot and he took them off. "Worried how?" she said.

"I don't know. I think he might be planning to go out on his own."

"Leave the club?" She couldn't imagine such a thing. She knew from Juice that Bobby wasn't happy with Jax' decisions lately, and he'd made it clear when he stepped down from the VP role—but to leave completely?

"Nah," Juice said with a wag of his head. "I think he might go Nomad."

"Hum." She thought it over with a distracted frown. "I don't know. Doesn't seem his style. He's upset, and I get that, but I kinda feel like he'd rather fix the problems than run away from them."

"That does seem more like Bobby." He cleared his throat. Brushed his fingers over the back of her hand to get her attention. "Hey," he said when she looked at him. "Gem told me about Lyla."

Her mouth moved in an unhappy moue. "Ah," she said, a simple sound that held a complex array of emotions.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No." She dropped his eyes and her forehead creased. She bit her lip. "I don't know. Not really."

He watched her with a worried frown. "Aren't you cold?" he said, seemingly apropos of nothing.

She glanced up with a brief flash of smile. "Yeah, a little."

He unzipped his hoodie and started to slide it off, but she shook her head. "I've got a better idea."

She grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and tugged him down to lie next to her. Her arms went around him beneath the hoodie. He ran his hands over her hair and down her back.

"I like this idea," he said. He cocooned her in the sweatshirt and they lay wrapped together for a long time. She was still against him. Their breathing gradually fell into sync. He could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat where their chests pressed together and the scent of her was warm and familiar.

This was the type of moment that made him extraordinarily glad the branch had broken that night. Even gladder than normal. He might not want to admit it, but she was right: he was depressed, and it seemed like every decision he made and every action he took just made it worse. When he was with her some of that guilt and anger and exhausting, aching sadness melted away. It wasn't _gone_, just…smoothed. Like a rock in a stream.

"I'm glad you're home," she said.

He wasn't entirely sure whether she meant home, Charming; or home, here, but either way. "Me too."

She shifted to shove him back against the blanket. He let out a surprised _oomph_ and grinned up at her. "Hey there," he said as she straddled his legs.

"Hi." She slid her hands under his shirt and tickled him a little. "I had a very strange conversation with Tig today."

"Oh yeah?" he said. He tried to grab her fingers and his voice sounded distracted.

"Yup. About my feelings toward oral sex."

"Wait." She suddenly had his full attention. "What now?"

She laughed and recapped the highlights for him. "Happy asked if men or women were better at it."

"What did you say?" he said with a frown.

She leaned forward and used her tongue to trace a line from his belt buckle to his belly button. "I told him that wasn't a fair question. But." She undid his belt. Slowly lowered the zipper on his pants. "I have to admit that at least one man of my acquaintance has quite a knack for it."

"Oh yeah?" he said again, his voice lower and breathier than before.

"Mmhhmm. And it's funny: I was perfectly fine discussing the topic in generalities, but the moment I had that thought I know I turned bright red." She stroked the bulge in his boxer briefs.

"What, um. What thought was that?"

"Just, you know. About you. With your face between my thighs." She squeezed him a little and he let out a sharp hiss.

"That's definitely a real nice image," he said. His eyes were wide and black in the half light. His mouth dropped open a bit as he panted. "I wouldn't mind re—uh—recreating that right, um. Right now."

"Hhhmm." She hooked her fingers on the waist of his underwear and tugged it down. "I do appreciate your enthusiasm, baby, but you're gonna have to wait your turn."

She dropped her head and flicked her tongue over the tip of his cock. He had gone from semi to fully erect while she'd played with him through his shorts, and now he was stiff and hot in her hand. He squirmed as she swirled her tongue around the head and brushed her lips across it.

She pulled away and her expression was stern. "Do you think you can do that?" she said. "Sharing is caring, after all."

He gasped out a laugh. "I'm really good at sharing."

She smirked. "You certainly are."

She cupped his balls with one hand and massaged and squeezed. Her tongue darted up and down his shaft, soft, teasing little brushes that made him whimper for more.

She didn't give it to him. She just continued to lick, barely skimming his heated skin from the tip of his cock down to his balls. Unlike him, she could tease for ages. Play and tempt and arouse until he was wrecked and begging. That's how she liked him best, and the whole game turned him on to the point of incoherence.

She wiggled the tip of her tongue into his slit. Kissed it and eased the head between her lips. She treated it like a lollipop or an ice cream cone: all long, easy lathes and slow, maddening sucks. She used her lips and her tongue; barely grazed him with her teeth; hollowed her cheeks as he popped in and out of her mouth. He was already dripping, and he felt her smile as she lapped up the pre-come.

"Babe," he choked out, "please. Please!"

Her head tilted and she fixed him with a curious look. She loosely fisted him in her hand and stroked. "Please what, Juicy?" His hips jerked when her fingers tightened around him. She made a _tsk_ing noise.

"Eager, aren't you?"

His head moved in a desperate nod. "Yeah. Yes. Fuck! Jesus goddamn Christ—!" He was almost painfully hard, aching and throbbing, and every one of those feather-light touches was a sort of agony of close-but-not-enough.

"Please _what_?" she repeated.

He let out a strangled moan. "Make me come with your mouth, baby. Please! Fuck, I need it so bad."

She smiled then, a wicked little curve. He was sprawled out on the blanket with his shirt rucked up to his chest and his pants around his knees. His breath came in pained gasps and the muscles in his abdomen danced every time she touched him. She kissed the flat planes of his stomach and nipped at his hipbones with wet, swollen lips and rough, careless teeth.

He cursed, long and low and filthy, his voice guttural and slurred, and with a quiet noise of pleasure she sucked him halfway in. He whimpered and clenched wads of blanket with both hands. She moved up and down on his cock, her lips tight and her tongue working. His head fell back and he whispered her name—_Livvie, _punctuated by the occasional, desperate _please_ or _fuck_ or _yes—_over and over like a mantra.

She wrapped her fingers around the base of his saliva-slicked shaft while her other hand still toyed with his balls. She went faster, sucked him deeper. Pulled away to stroke her tongue up and down and around the head before she took him in her mouth again.

She would get him right to the edge and then slow down or ease up or stop altogether to tease him with more of those soft little licks and feathery caresses. He was loosing his mind, but she didn't let up, and just as he thought he couldn't take another second, she squeezed him tight and sucked him deep.

He let out a soft, moaning cry and his hips bucked. She never slowed, and as he spasmed in her mouth again and again she gleefully lapped up every drop. When it was finally over he felt spent and shaky, and he collapsed onto the blanket with a protracted groan.

"Holy. Jesus," he managed.

She laughed and scooted up to lie beside him. "Okay, love?"

His head lolled in a sort-of nod. "I might be. Gimme a minute."

Another laugh, this one warm and low and loaded with honeyed promise. "All right. But only a minute. It's your turn, after all."

He kicked off his underwear and pants and rolled toward her. "Sharing is caring," he said with a grin that crinkled his eyes.

"You are a very quick learner, Ortiz," she murmured just before their mouths met for a long, slow kiss. "And I did miss you so, so much."

* * *

_We're dealing here with two people who have varying degrees of PTSD and (at least in Juice's case; not really sure about Olivia, but I'd lean toward no) depression. In the wake of Juice betraying Clay and Olivia's attack, those issues are gonna be more in the forefront. I mean, s6 was pretty harrowing, right? So expect the next several chapters to have their heavy moments. (intermingled with some smut and a dash of humor bc we can't be dour ALL the time)_


	31. Can't Feel a Thing

I thought about skipping today, but I got it finished and made some headway into 32, so I figured I might as well publish.

Clipping right along in s6, but I'm extending some things a little for the sake of our sanities.

* * *

**i am metal and i am steel**  
**i don't mind 'cause i can't feel a thing**  
**i'm a diamond ring**  
**i'm not flesh and i'm not bone**  
**i'm not sad and i'm not all alone**  
**i'm a stone**  
Bob Schneider, "Metal and Steel"

Gemma had told her she could stay home the next day if she wanted to, but the house felt empty once Juice left. She wasn't as antsy or restless as she'd been yesterday (multiple orgasms were the ultimate stress buster), but she still didn't feel like sitting at home. The place was spotlessly clean from the time she'd spent recovering, and her garden was thriving. There was only so much make-work she could find to do, so finally she gave up and grabbed her keys.

She pulled in to her usual spot at the garage and took note of who was there: Juice, Chibs, Gemma, Jax…full house, really. She paused at the clubhouse door and glanced toward the picnic tables. Wade was there, along with Rat, and they both had beers. She'd also noticed that the bay doors on the shop were down. It was the middle of the afternoon.

"Doesn't anyone work around here?" she said, only half-kidding.

"Hey, Ollie," Rat said with a nervous nod. "We, uh, we were in the shop, but we didn't have any customers, so—"

"You closed up early?"

Wade shrugged a shoulder. "Chibs came in. Needed to talk to Juice about somethin'. Seemed like we should make ourselves scarce."

She went still. "That's strange…" She shook her head with a faux casual little laugh. "Oh, but you know what, I just remembered I need to see Gemma about something anyway. I should—the office—" She mumbled a bit more and spun away.

Olivia tried to act natural as she hurried across the parking lot. She didn't know why Chibs would need to speak to Juice alone in the garage, but she couldn't imagine it was anything good. All the really bad shit tended to go down in there because no one wanted to get the clubhouse dirty. Jax had said Juice was square, but as he had pointed out—that was with _Jax_, not necessarily everyone else.

She thought about just barging in, but instead she acted on a hunch and detoured to the office. Gemma was there, as she'd suspected, and she peered through the window at something happening in the shop. When she heard Olivia at the door she reached hastily to close the blinds, but Olivia rushed forward to stop her.

She froze with her hand outstretched and her mouth open. She stared through the window in disbelief. Chibs had just taken his off rings. Juice said something she couldn't make out, and Chibs threw an enormous punch that staggered Juice and nearly knocked him off his feet. He straightened and raised his chin and Chibs punched him again.

"What the _fuck_?!" Olivia cried. She changed course and made for the door, but Gemma caught her.

"Stop, Olivia. It's not your business," she said, sharply.

"The fuck it isn't! He's beating the shit out of him! Let me go, Gem. Let me go!"

She gripped her arms even tighter and shook her. "Ollie, listen to me. That's club business in there. I don't know what's going on, but I do know we have to let it happen."

"How can you say that?" She flinched as the sound of fist pounding flesh filtered to them. She spun away from the window, stomach roiling, and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. It took several long, panting breaths before she could speak again.

"I thought you cared about him. Now you're gonna let Chibs use him as a punching bag?"

"Juice knows it has to happen, sweetheart. Whatever's going on between them—you saw him in there. He stood up to take those punches."

"Of course he fucking did! After what happened with Clay he thinks that's all he's good for. He'd take a thousand punches if he thought it'd make things right."

"Right with Chibs? He didn't support Jax?"

Olivia made an impatient gesture. "Right with _himself_, Gem. He's been spiraling ever since it happened. He tries to hide it, and I thought the trip to Indian Hills would help. You know, get him out of town so he could clear his head."

Gemma frowned, and when she spoke again her tone was thoughtful. "He told me when he got back yesterday that he was tired."

"Yeah." Olivia's brows quirked in grim acknowledgment and she slumped against the desk. "That's a pretty good description."

"I thought you were taking care of him!" she said. "You're his old lady, Olivia. It's your job."

She gave a stubborn jerk of her head. "No, Gemma, I'm—"

"Oh no you don't." Gemma crowded close and thrust a finger in her face. "I don't want to hear that bullshit about you not being his old lady. I'm going to ask this one more time, and you better tell me the truth or you're out. Do you love that boy or not?"

"_Out_? What—"

"You think I can't do it? You think I _won't_? Lie to me again, little girl, and you'll be on the goddamn midnight train to Georgia."

Her eyes flashed with fury. "I don't respond well to threats."

"I don't respond well to bullshit."

She looked away and scraped a hand down her face. Her jaw was tight and her eyes hot, but finally she gave in. "Yes, Gemma. Of course I fucking love him. I could've gone to the cops with that dirt on my ex father-in-law at any time in the last eight years. They would've fallen all over themselves to give me WITSEC."

Gemma narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "What does Juice have to do with that? I thought you did it to keep the club safe from RICO."

"To keep _Juice_ safe from RICO." It wasn't the full truth, but Gemma didn't need to know the details. She didn't need to know about Miles and the coke and the pressure Potter had put on Juice.

Gemma snorted. Leaned close again and lowered her voice. "Listen, sweetheart. I know it ain't easy, listenin' to what's going on in there. But it's club business. Not ours.

"_Your_ job," she said and poked Olivia in the shoulder, "is to put him back together again when _they_ rip him apart. You gotta know when to keep your mouth shut and when to step in. That's what an old lady _does_. It's why an MC is only as good as its queen. You get me?"

She lifted her hands in a helpless, hopeless gesture. "I'm just one person. I can't just wave a magic wand and cure him. He's got a lot of shit stirring around in his head."

"Yeah, well, it seems to me you do, too. Maybe between his shit and yours you two can figure somethin' out."

"I don't understand this life," she said. She flicked her fingers toward the garage. "How is that _brotherly love_? Love shouldn't fucking _hurt_, Gem. It shouldn't leave bruises and scars."

Gemma guessed Olivia knew a thing or two about that—but then so did she. "They're men, honey. Boys will be boys."

"Fuck that. People are people, and what's happening in there hurts no matter who you are." She pushed off the desk and started for the door again.

"Olivia—"

"No. I get it. I hear everything you're saying, and maybe on some level it's even true. But this has gone on long enough. An old lady's job is to know when to step in, right?" She tilted her head toward the garage. "It's time."

Gemma's mouth clamped into a thin line and she turned away. Olivia pushed the door open and stepped through.

Juice was on his knees with blood in his mouth and more streaming from a cut on his brow. Chibs had a handful of t-shirt and had pulled his arm back for another punch. The look on Juice's face stopped her for a moment: pleading; acceptance; a sort of terrible, resigned _hope_. He would let Chibs beat him to death if he thought it would make things better. He would take it until he passed out.

She swallowed hard. Neither of them had heard her come in, so she grabbed a wrench off the table and smacked it against the tool chest. It let out a ringing clang, almost like a boxing bell, and both men looked her way.

"Enough" was all she said, her voice quiet but with a core of steel that echoed. She was glad she sounded so steady. In reality her hands trembled and she wanted to vomit. Or run away. Or run away then vomit.

Chibs' expression was hard and thunderous, and it didn't soften when he saw her. "This's none of your concern, lass. Go along now."

"That's what I keep hearing. _Club business_. _Brotherly love_. Yeah." She surged forward. "Fuck that. And fuck you, too, Filip Telford. He's _square_. You fucking know that."

"I do. He's square with Jackie, and Jax says that means he's square with the club—but I gotta make it right for _me_."

"Then you've done that. Enough, Chibs. You've made your point."

He looked down at Juice for a long time. A series of unreadable thoughts passed over his face, until he finally settled on a sort of regret. She didn't think for a minute it was that he regretted the beating; more he regretted everything that had led to it.

"Aye," he said, slowly, "perhaps I have."

He sighed and let go of Juice's shirt. Juice swayed and would have gone down, but she caught him. He pressed his bloody face against her leg and wrapped an arm around her. Chibs watched them through narrow eyes.

"It had to be done, lass. I know it doesn't seem like it, but it had to be done." Chibs reached for him, to help him to his feet, but she held out a hand to stop him.

"I've got him."

"He needs to be patched up."

"No shit," she said with a snort.

"I did the damage. Let me help fix it."

She looked his way, and he flinched a little from the fury in her eyes. She was a tiny storm of it, but it was all directed at him. For Juice she had nothing but compassion and, Chibs saw, a great deal of love. Enough, maybe, to heal what had been going on in the boy's head since Miles.

"You've done enough, Chibs."

"Ollie—"

"No. The club tears him apart. His old lady puts him back together again." She cast a glance at the doorway, where Gemma stood watching. "Isn't that how it works?"

He fell back and a weary smile touched his mouth. "Aye, lass. You've got it now. Take him, then."

"Where're we going?" Juice said, his voice slurred by pain.

"Clubhouse, love. Come on." She took as much of his weight as she could, and together they staggered out of the garage.

Halfway across the lot he started to make a choking noise that alarmed her into stopping.

"What?! What's wrong?"

He lifted his head and she realized he'd been laughing. "Nothing. Just—I told you you'd change your mind someday. The night of the car bomb, remember?"

In spite of everything it made her laugh, a short huff of amusement accompanied by a roll of her eyes. "Oh, fuck you, Ortiz," she said as they got moving again.

"Not right now, babe. Head hurts."

"You meatball," she said, her voice laced with exasperated affection.

"Love you too, Liv. Love you too."

* * *

Later that night Olivia was coming out of the garage just as Chibs crossed the parking lot to his bike. She hailed him and he detoured her way.

"Thanks for cleaning up after yourself," she said.

He made one of those incomprehensible Scottish noises. "I figured it was safer if I did."

"Smart."

He lit a cigarette and offered it to her, but she shook her head. "Where's Juice?"

"Clubhouse. I'm pretty sure Chucky and Tig are getting him drunk."

"Need some help then?"

"No," she said, her voice cold. She let out a sigh and brushed a hand over her face. "Listen, Chibs—"

He interrupted her with a gesture. "If you're goin' to apologize for earlier, don't worry about it. You did what you thought was right."

Her look was incredulous. "Apologize? No, Chibs, I wasn't going to apologize. I didn't do what I _thought_ was right. I did what _was_ right, full stop."

He looked away and took a long drag of his cigarette. She took a step closer and caught his eye. She was smiling, just a little, in a way he recognized.

"You know I love you, Chibs…right?"

"Aye, lass," he said, surprised. "I love you too, like me own daughter."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." She ran her tongue over her upper lip. Her teeth flashed in the light from the streetlamp. "If you ever raise a hand to him like that again, I'll cut it off. Okay?"

He lifted a brow. "You tryin' to scare me, lass?"

"No, Chibs," she said and shook her head. "I'm just telling you the facts. You know how I like everyone to be on the same page."

"Aye," he said, drawing the syllable out. "I hear you."

She patted his arm and started toward her car, but his voice stopped her. "Do you know why I was willing to give him another chance to begin with?"

She turned back, face scrunched with curiosity. "I don't know. Because he's your brother and your friend and everyone fucks up sometimes?"

"Ollie. Selling out the club and killing a brother isn't just a fuck up. We have _rules_ here. Important ones. They aren't just for show."

Her mouth quirked. "Maybe someone should remind Jax of that fact."

Chibs' brow furrowed and he flicked his cigarette away. "Aye, well, that's another matter."

"Mmm," she said, mildly. She crossed her arms and stepped closer. "You gonna tell me, or is this twenty questions?"

"Ach, well," he said with a grim smile, "I'd think it'd be fairly obvious." He paused and she stared at him. "It was because of you, lass. You were willing to stand up for him. To put yourself on the line for him. That said something."

"My track record for judging character isn't exactly exemplary," she said with a wry twist to her mouth.

"True. But, like I've said before, you're not a woman who makes the same mistake twice."

She looked away with a frown. "You two good now, Chibs? Are you done punishing him?"

"I'll not lie to you, Ollie girl: it's a hard thing for me to be good with."

"I get that. I really do. But what you've got to understand is that he's punishing himself more than anyone in the club ever could. Every time you pull him into the garage for a beat down, or give him that _look_ you have, or just…treat him like he's not worth your time or effort, he punishes himself that much more. He thinks he deserves all of it. He thinks there's not torture devised by man painful enough for him."

She broke off and hauled in a breath. She hadn't meant to say so much. Juice wouldn't appreciate having his weakness exposed to anyone in the club, not even Chibs. At this point maybe especially not Chibs.

"I take it you disagree."

She made a scornful face and he held up his hands. A silence fell as he studied her: the tense posture, the anger-bright eyes, the pink cheeks. He let out a long sigh and fell back a step.

"It took a lot of"—he started to say _balls_, but stopped himself with a brief grin—"genital fortitude to do what you did."

"Is that why you stopped?"

"Part of it," he said. He drew in a breath. "You really think he's worth it, lass? I know Miles wasn't your brother, and I know you aren't a member of this club, but I also know you're a woman of deep empathy. So you can understand how we might feel about the situation."

"I've met very few people in this world who aren't worth at least one more shot." She hesitated. Waved a hand. "There are those people, and then there are a handful of others. They're genuinely good and genuinely kind and they mean well with everything they do—and somehow those people, when they fuck up, fuck up in the most extraordinary and creative ways possible.

"Juice is worth it, Chibs. He's worth it because he doesn't belong in this life, no matter that he thinks otherwise. He's worth it because he would do anything—literally anything—to make this right. He let you beat him bloody, and it was as much catharsis for him as it was for you."

"If he can't hack it he should get out," Chibs said, his voice rough with more than anger.

"You know it's more complicated than that," she said.

He shoved his hands into his cut and shrugged a shoulder. "Aye. Perhaps I do." He huffed out a chuckle. Shook his head. "You're a wee ornery thing, lass, and I wish Juicy boy the luck of you. I'd say you're more than the lad can handle, but maybe you're right and he'll surprise us yet."

"Well he sure as fuck won't if you beat him to death first," she shot back.

"All right, girl, all right. Juicy and me, we're square. You've got my word."

"Okay," she said. Some of the tension drained out of her, but her eyes remained wary. "That's all I was asking for."

"Aye, Ollie girl," he said with a laugh. "Nothin' but the moon."

* * *

"You know I'm a mechanic, not a babysitter—right?"

Apparently they'd found the school shooter's mother—Nero's cousin's girlfriend—and were worried she might talk to the cops. Nero didn't want her harmed, so the club had agreed to put her up at the cabin until they could find somewhere safe for her to go. In the meantime, according to Gemma, they needed a bit of help with her, and so Gemma had come to Olivia. Normally she'd be happy to say yes, but the shooting wasn't something she wanted to get close to. At all.

Gemma let out a frustrated sigh and propped her fists on her hips. "Of course I know that, Ollie. But someone's gotta stay with this girl, and she thinks the club's tryin' to kill her. I don't have time, and I'm not exactly _comforting_ to dumb junkie bitches who let their kids shoot up a school. You have that whole"—she waved a hand—"nonjudgmental thing."

Olivia rubbed her forehead a moment, but finally she relented—as they had both known she would. "Yeah, okay. I'll get Vi-Lin to cover for me in the garage. He owes me one anyway."

"Call him from the road. They've already got her up at the cabin and she's a mess."

Gemma started toward her car and Olivia had no choice but to follow. She grabbed the first aid kit (just in case) and hurried to catch up. It was two hours to the cabin, but from the way Gemma peeled out of the parking lot, she seemed determined to make it in one. Olivia snapped her seatbelt on and wondered if it was too late in her life to find religion.

Gemma cast her a look. "You okay over there?"

"Oh, sure," she said with a nervous smile. "I just usually prefer to be the one driving. It's a control thing, I guess."

"Mmhhmm. And you're the type of person who likes to be in control."

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

"Not bad or good. Just a fact."

There was a pause while Olivia watched the scenery speed past the window. Then, "Ever since my mom died I've been uncomfortable anywhere but the driver's seat."

"Huh. That must be why you and Juice get along so well."

She'd been wondering when Gemma would confront her about Juice. Maybe _confront_ was the wrong word, but something about Gemma made everything feel like a confrontation. It had been a few days since the incident in the garage, and so far the only real difference she'd noticed was that Tig made an effort to not look at her tits quite so much. That was nice, but otherwise Olivia had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. It seemed like this little jaunt to the cabin was just the chance Gemma had been waiting for.

"You got nothin' to say?" Gemma said.

"What should I say?" she said, tilting her head back toward Gemma. "I told you day one I wanted as little as possible to do with the MC and I meant it. I made it clear to Juice and everybody else that I had no interest in being anyone's old lady. No interest in being a crow eater. I just wanted to do my job and live my life and have a little peace."

Gemma snorted. "That hasn't been workin' for you for a long time now."

"Nope," Olivia said, her tone wistful.

"So what happened?"

She was quiet for so long that Gemma thought she might not answer at all, but finally she said, "I don't know. I wish I did. I just…he really looked like he could use a friend. Someone who wasn't tied up in all this club shit that has his head so scrambled. So I reached out."

That wasn't the entire truth, but she didn't want to get into their full history: that night at the bar, her hotel room after; and besides, Gemma had at least a vague idea of what had been going on for the last two-plus years. And it was, at least, _mostly_ true for how they'd gotten together in the end.

"And, what? Fell on his dick? How do you go from _reaching out_ to _old lady_?"

"Good fucking question. Again, I don't really know." She fiddled with the end of her braid. "How did it happen for you? I'm sure you didn't intend to fall for Clay when you were still married to John. So…how?"

Now it was Gemma's turn to sigh. "I don't know, sweetheart," she said after a while. "I guess sometimes shit just happens."

"The best laid plans, right?"

"Woman plans, God fucking well laughs." Gemma drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. Slanted a glance across the car. "It took a lot of balls to do what you did the other day."

"Yeah, that's what Chibs said. I wasn't really thinking with my balls." She shook her head. "I wasn't thinking at all, really. I was furious and scared and I just…" She trailed off with a helpless shrug.

"You did exactly what you should've done."

Olivia stared at her, wide-eyed. "You tried to stop me."

"Mostly to see what you'd do." She flicked her fingers. "You were right to step in, and like I told you, it's an old lady's job to put her man back together again. The club will rip them apart, Ollie. Especially Juice. He's too sensitive. Vulnerable. If you're gonna be his old lady then you gotta be prepared to do shit like that. Be ready to do what you have to do to keep him whole."

"I don't even know how to keep myself whole, Gemma."

"Yeah," Gemma said, low and grim. "I've figured that much out. Ice queen on the outside, barely held together with duct tape and safety pins inside."

"Ice queen?" she said, a little insulted. "I'm not _that_ bad, am I?"

"You keep everyone and everything at arm's length. You pretend like you don't; you say all the right things and you go through the motions. You've got them all fooled, if it makes you feel any better." She paused. "I'm not sayin' that's a bad thing. It's kept you alive this long."

"And now I've broken my own rule," she said with an ironic, rueful twist to her mouth.

"Oh shit," Gemma said. She turned to pin Olivia with an amazed stare for so long that Olivia made a frantic gesture toward the road. Eyes once again where they should be, Gemma shook her head. "You really are in love with him."

"I wouldn't have confronted Chibs like that if I weren't," Olivia said. "And, Gem, for fuck's sake. You _asked_ me!"

She made a low noise. "Does he know?"

Her mouth quirked. "Yeah, he knows."

"I don't need to ask how he feels about you. Anyone with half a brain could tell that boy's been smitten with you practically since he first met you."

"Then why was everyone so surprised to find out I'm his old lady?"

"I said _half a brain_. Name one guy in that club who fits that description."

She laughed. "Point."

Olivia drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The world outside the car was suddenly engrossing, and she studied it like she'd never seen California scrub before. Several miles disappeared beneath the SUV's tires before she spoke again. "I don't want to end up like Lyla. I mean, shit—don't take this the wrong way, but I don't want to end up like _you_. I don't want to mourn a dead man. I don't want to be hard and bitter because of everything my life's taken from me."

"I hate to tell you this, baby girl, but you're already hard and bitter. No one lives through what you've been through and comes out the other side Polyanna."

"Is that what it is, then?" she said. "I hate using all that bullshit as an excuse for anything."

"It's not an _excuse_. It's life. I lost my son. John left me alone while he ran off after some Irish gash, and I had to deal with my Thomas's death on my own. Shit like that changes you. It makes you hard and it makes you bitter, but it also makes you strong. That's what they need us to be, sweetheart, because God knows they can't hack it on their own."

"Tara once told me she thinks we have it worst of all because we're the ones left to put the pieces back together once the dust settles. Do you think that's true?"

Gemma was quiet. Then, "Yeah, baby. I think Tara hit the nail on the head with that one."

It wasn't anything more than she'd expected. She nodded, her expression thoughtful, and Gemma reached for the radio. An old Jackson Browne tune came on, and Olivia was surprised when Gemma didn't change it.

"Where do you think Jax's name comes from?" she said when Olivia commented on it. She cut a brief, winking smile Olivia's way, and she couldn't help but laugh.

The rest of the trip passed in silence, but it was companionable rather than tense, and both women were glad they had cleared the air between them. While it lasted, anyway.

* * *

_I hate how the latter seasons of this show have pitted its women against each other. Unfortunately unless I change...pretty much every single thing about s6, that's going to happen to a certain extent. Olivia's already chosen Tara's side, so that will naturally pit her against Gemma. I hate it, but I don't see much way around it. (which is not to say I don't agree with much of Tara's logic, bc I DO; Gemma was no fit guardian for the kiddos, esp not in the state she was in in 5-6. I just hate that it had to fall out the way it did...especially ultimately...but we'll get to that when we get to it.)_

_Reviews to help me through ch32? *puppy eyes*_


	32. Monsters in the Closet

Our quote today is brought to us by one of Bob Schneider's most drug-addled, hallucinatory songs. Good luck with it.

Also I'm pretty sick today. :/ I decided to go ahead and publish even though I have maybe 2 paragraphs of ch33 written, mostly bc I hate skipping two days in a row. If you guys would like to drop me some words of encouragement, I'd love it. :)

And thanks, as always, to those of you who have!

* * *

**i know where tomorrow be too damn far away**  
**today ain't my cup of tea and everything is grey**  
**knucked out and lost all the bats have flown**  
**monsters in the closet's all i've ever known**  
Bob Schneider, "Gold In the Sunset"

Gemma pulled to a stop in front of the cabin and cut the ignition. "I gotta talk to Jax about something. Go on inside and see about the girl," she said.

Olivia raised a brow. "No one actually asked us to come up here, did they?"

Gemma's lips twisted in a wry smile. "Gave me an excuse to drive this way. And, besides, do you really want these jug heads taking care of that girl alone?"

"As if you need an excuse." Gemma did what she wanted, and everyone else better hang on or get out of the way. It was a life philosophy Olivia could respect, all told.

She hopped out and shut the door behind her. She nodded to Jax as they passed each other, but rather than go straight inside she paced a moment to work out the stiffness in her hip. Normally she was fine in a car for such a short ride, but since her time in the hospital she hadn't been her usual spry self.

She'd just started for the porch when they heard the shot. Confused shouting came from inside, and Olivia froze in place.

"Ollie!" Jax called in an urgent whisper. "Get down!"

She spun toward the SUV and saw him crouched low with his gun drawn. Gemma was behind him, and she made a frantic _come here_ gesture. They didn't know what was happening, but there was no way it could be good.

The cabin door opened and a blond girl with a shotgun burst through it. She ran straight toward Olivia.

"Darvy!" Arcadio cried. He was right on her heels, his own weapon out. Most of the club hurtled out the door after them. "Darvy, baby, don't do this!"

She was incoherent, screaming and crying, and as she closed in Olivia raised her hands and scurried backwards toward the Lincoln. Darvany yelled at Jax to put his gun down, and after a moment he did. Olivia pressed her back against the car and slowly reached toward her pocket. She had no idea what good a knife would do against a shotgun, but she felt better with it in her hand.

Gemma appeared around the car with a gun. The girl saw her and let out a terrified sob. She pulled the trigger, maybe by accident, maybe on purpose. The shot went wild, ricocheted off the metal, and Olivia felt a searing blaze across her hip. She might have made a noise or she might have said nothing; she had no idea. All she knew was that one minute she'd been upright, and the next she was on the ground.

She hit the dirt and rolled. Arcadio begged Darvany to put the gun down, but she was hysterical. The guys were on the porch yelling nonsense. Their voices sounded a hundred miles away. Her hip felt like it had been attacked by wasps, a burning, stinging pain that darkened her vision. She brushed her hand over it and it came away red.

She hauled herself up so that she was propped against the SUV. Arcadio was half-in-half-out of the driver's side. His heavy black boot was close enough for her to touch. She stared at it. The knife was tangled in her fingers, blade out—she was lucky she hadn't cut herself when she fell—and with a sort of disconnected feeling, like she was watching someone else, she raised it above her head and drove it directly into his foot.

His screech was cut short by a rifle blast.

Olivia closed her eyes, and when she opened them again Juice's face filled her vision. His eyes were huge and his skin was a funny grayish-green color. She smiled and tried to pat his cheek, but she hadn't let go of the knife and she was sitting on her left hand.

"Hi, babe," she said.

"She fucking shot you, Liv!" he cried. It wasn't the first thing he'd said, but it was the first thing she understood.

Her brow furrowed. "Yeah, I guess so. Huh. Never been shot before."

"She's in shock," Chibs said. "We need to get her inside."

"Nah, I'm okay. I just need to sit down a sec."

"Lass, you are sittin' down."

"Oh," she said. She looked around in surprise. "Okay. I think I need to pass out then."

And that was exactly what she did.

* * *

When she came to a few minutes later she was stretched out in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Her hip hurt like the blue blazes, but she couldn't really remember why. She tried to sit up, but she let out a yelp of pain and fell back against the pillows again.

Chibs appeared in her line of sight. "Ach, you're awake." He frowned. "Would've been nice if you'd stayed out a bit longer."

"Sorry," she said in a thready voice. "I'll try to do better next time." He wore his glasses and held a bloody pair of tweezers. "What the fuck, Chibs?"

"Just a wee bit of buckshot, lass. Nothing to worry about. It barely grazed you. Picking out a few pieces and you'll be good as new. Not sure I'll even have to stitch you up."

She tilted her head and got a good look at her hip. He'd cut her jeans from ankle to waist, but the denim had been shredded anyway. A series of small, stippling wounds decorated her skin. A few of them looked bad (from her point of view, anyway), but most were, like Chibs said, only scrapes.

"Jesus motherfucking Christ," she said on a long breath. Memories started to filter back in muddy, jerky flashes.

He held up a finger. "You were lucky today, Ollie girl. I'd not tempt fate now by blaspheming."

Her brows quirked and she let her head loll back. "The girl shot me. Darvany."

"Aye, that's the one." He nodded toward the bedside table. "Take those. They'll help with the pain."

She grabbed the two pills and tossed them back. Washed them down with the bottle of water he shoved closer with his elbow. "What did I just take?"

He looked at her over his glasses. "Maybe you shoulda asked that before. Not allergic to anything, are you?"

"No. Just curious."

"Ah. Well, just oxy. Nothin' too serious."

She snorted. "Right."

He grinned and got back to work. She flinched as he probed. "Sorry, love. Try to hold still."

She clenched a wad of sheet in her hand and tried to do as he said. "Who, ah—fuck—who shot Arcadio?"

"Nero."

"Oh hell."

He sniffed. "Cost him dear, but he had no choice, what with the girl's hair trigger and all."

"Where is she now?"

"The other room. We got her tied to the bed."

She palmed the sweat off her forehead and huffed out a pained laugh. "Wow, Chibs. Cut one girl's clothes off, tie another to a bed. What exactly do you boys get up to when I'm not around?"

"Ha! Aye, well, she's melting down a bit. Thinks we're gonna kill her."

She grabbed his arm and he looked up in surprised. "Are you?"

"No, lass, Christ! What kinda people do you think we are? We're not in the business of killin' innocent girls. And even if we were, Nero doesn't want her hurt."

Somehow she wasn't comforted. She shivered a little and he offered a reassuring smile.

"Don't trouble your head about her, darlin'. I'll get you all fixed up and you can have a nice rest."

"Where's Juice?" she said after a moment.

"He was in here, but Jax sent him to sit with the girl. He was gettin' in the way."

She tensed and he clucked his tongue. "Is he in there alone with her?"

"Ollie—"

"Just answer the question."

"No," he said with a furrowed brow. "Some of Nero's boys are in there, too, last I checked. They finally got back with a wee bit for her."

"Dope."

"Aye," he said, his mouth twisting in amusement.

She swallowed hard and tried to make her mind work around the haze of pain. Her hand was on Chibs' arm again. She squeezed. "Jax sent Juice to sit with her."

"Aye…?"

"Do me a favor. Check and make sure he's not in there alone."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Really, girl, do you honestly think—"

"Of course I don't," she snapped. She closed her eyes. Opened them again. "Check, please. Just humor me, Chibby."

He glowered and dropped the tweezers into a cup of rubbing alcohol on the nightstand. Stripped off his bloody gloves and went to the door. He poked his head out into the main room.

"She's askin' for Juicy. He still with the girl?" he said.

"Yeah," came Tig's voice. "Makin' sure she drops off."

"Nero's lads can sit with her for a moment, yeah?"

Someone further away said something she couldn't make out, and then Jax: "They had somethin' to take care of. Juice'll be out as soon as he fixes her up. Tell Ollie to hang on a few minutes."

"Aye, will do." Chibs shut the door and turned toward her with a troubled frown. "Satisfied, lass?"

"You don't look like you are."

He hesitated. "Odd thing. Nero specifically said he wanted his boys on her, too."

"Doesn't trust Jax. Smart move." She panted a moment as the pain spiked and her face went pale. "Jax sent Juice into that room _alone_, Chibs. He did it for a reason."

Their eyes met. Chibs tried to come up with another explanation, but it all fit. Her words from the other day echoed in his memory, about how Juice would do _literally anything_ to get back right with the club. He could picture Juice on his knees, the look on his face as Chibs had pummeled him and the way he kept coming back for more. Jax had been erratic of late. Untrustworthy, to be brutally honest. He'd made big decisions without the club's vote and had killed men for far less than the danger this one strung-out junkie girl represented.

"Fuck me," he muttered.

"You need to get in there," she said, her tone urgent. "But don't—don't let them know. Jax will deny everything and they'll blame Juice."

He was gone before she finished the sentence. She heard him say a brusque word or two to one of the guys, and then the sound of a door as it opened and closed. She screwed her eyes shut against another frisson of pain and hoped he wasn't too late.

* * *

Chibs was relieved that Jax was gone when he stepped out in the main room, so he only had to dodge a few questions before he made it to the other bedroom. He opened the door just wide enough to slip inside and closed it behind him.

Juice has leaning over the girl with a pillow pressed to her face. He jumped away when he saw Chibs, and his eyes took on a panicked light. "I just—she just—" He stopped. His face fell. "Fuck."

"Don't just sit there with your thumb up your ass, lad. Is it too late?" Chibs rushed forward and shoved the pillow aside. Her eyes were fixed and staring. Chibs pressed an ear to her chest and heard a faint flutter. She took a halting, fitful breath and let it out. "She's not gone yet. You didn't kill her, Juicy."

He raised his head and tears streaked his cheeks. "What…?" He held his fingers above her mouth and felt a brush of air. "No, no, no! She's gotta be—Jax told me—"

He reached for the pillow but Chibs stopped him. "Enough. Jax told you to kill her, aye?"

"I don't think you were supposed to know."

"Ach, well, tough shit. I do know. What did he say to you?"

He shrugged. His chin hung to his chest and his shoulders slumped dismally. "He said she was a danger to the club. She shot Ollie because she's unstable, and we can't trust her not to rat about the gun. He told me I had to take care of her."

"Or…?"

"What do you think, Chibs? He'd go to the club about Miles. He'd make sure I lost my patch and got buried in an unmarked grave somewhere."

Chibs' eyes narrowed. "He said all that, did he?"

Juice's head lifted and fell in a miserable nod. "Because I told him I wouldn't do it." He brushed her hair off her forehead and smoothed it around her face. "She didn't do anything wrong. She lost her kid. Of course she's out of her mind. She just needs some time, that's all. She doesn't deserve—" He broke off and looked away. "Olivia wouldn't want her dead just because of what happened. I know that."

Chibs grasped his shoulder and squeezed. "You're right, laddie. We're supposed to be protecting her. And what would our good OG say if he knew?"

"Jax told me to send his guys away. Tell them I'd shoot her up, so that later we could tell Nero it was a hotshot or something."

"How do you even know how to do this, Juicy?" he said as he poked at the drug paraphernalia on the bed.

He swiped a hand down his face. "I had a problem when I was younger." His mouth pursed and his brows drew together. "My mom died when I was a kid—cancer—and I got bounced around the system. Foster homes, group homes, all that bullshit. Eventually I picked up a needle."

He hitched a shoulder and shook his head. "Then I moved out here and fucked around some more, and finally I got clean and started hangin' around TM." He hesitated. "The club's kept me clean. Probably woulda started usin' again fifty times if it hadn't been for you guys."

Chibs grimaced. In general he had little to no use for junkies, and once a junkie always a junkie. But Juice was a brother—despite his fuck ups—and with the exception of the occasional drunken binge (which they all indulged in from time to time), Chibs had never known him to use.

He snorted as something occurred to him. "Think you'da known better than to give a dog crank."

"Never said I knew what the fuck I was doin'. About anything." He looked up at Chibs with a frown. "What are you doing in here anyway?"

"Ollie sent me. She had a feelin' Jackie boy had put you up to mischief."

He pushed himself off the bed. "She's awake? Is she okay?"

"Aye, lad, she's fine. Hurts some, but that's to be expected." He waved a hand. "It's a graze, nothin' more. She'll have some new scars to get covered with a pretty tattoo."

He paused and studied Juice. Took note of the dark circles beneath his eyes. The haggard look to his face. Olivia had told him the other night, but he'd thought she was just overreacting. He should have known. Paranoid she might be, but hardly histrionic. The boy was hanging on by a thread, and it was obvious for anyone who bothered to look.

Chibs wondered why no one had. No one except Olivia. Whatever else you might say about her, she protected her own, that girl. Chibs sincerely hoped there would never be a time when she didn't consider him one of that number.

If Jax came back and the girl wasn't dead, Chibs didn't know how far he could protect Juice. Jax hardly listened to anyone these days. He'd already lost one VP because of it, and it was clear he'd asked Juice to do this—instead of the always-eager-Happy, say, or the ever-loyal Tig—because he knew Juice had no room to protest. He'd claimed they were square, but still Jax used him and played on his fear and guilt. Chibs scrubbed a hand over his chin and let out a rough breath.

"Go stand by the window, lad. How are the boys comin' with Gem's truck?"

Juice's face twisted with confusion, but he did as Chibs asked. It was still bright out, and he had to shield his eyes from the glare. "They got Nero's cousin laid out. Nero's standin' with him. Happy's scrubbing the windshield. Man, what a—" He turned his head back toward Chibs and stuttered to a stop.

He had the pillow pressed over her face. The muscles in his arms stood out and his jaw was clenched tight. His eyes were hard and blank, his face a mask of brutal determination mingled with a healthy dose of pure disgust.

Juice swallowed and looked out the window again.

Time passed. An eternity, it felt like. Juice was quiet. Inane chatter was beyond him, and his throat felt thick and sore. He could hear the creak of bedsprings. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to the window to feel the cool glass.

Finally Chibs' hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped.

"Let's go, Juicy," he said, his voice heavy and tired. "I need to finish up with Ollie, and she'll be wonderin' what's kept us."

"Yeah, Chibs," he said, bleakly. He didn't look at the bed. "Yeah, okay."

* * *

Olivia looked up as the door opened. Juice came in first, and then Chibs, and the looks on their faces did not bode well. She and Chibs locked eyes over Juice's head, and he gave a quick jerk of his chin. She honestly wasn't sure what that meant. The girl wasn't dead? Or she was and Juice had killed her? Or she was and…?

"What happened?" she said.

Juice came around to the opposite side of the bed and eased himself onto it. Chibs dropped into the chair with an exhausted sigh.

"Guys? Talk to me. Is she…?"

"Gone. She's gone," Chibs said. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed. After a moment he pushed himself to his feet, replaced his glasses, and tugged on another pair of gloves. "Let me get the rest of this shot outta your leg."

She took Juice's hand in hers and their fingers locked together. He dropped his chin and swiped roughly at his cheek.

"I didn't want to do it, Liv. She was just a little fucked up. She just needed some time."

"It's not your fault," she murmured to him. "You had no choice."

"Juicy didn't do it," Chibs said. "I did."

Her gaze whipped from Chibs to Juice and back again. "I don't understand."

He dried the tweezers on a towel and adjusted the lamp. Bent close and plucked something from the deepest wound. She hissed.

"You were right, lass," he said as he worked. "About Jax." Another fragment. "About the girl." He soaked a cotton ball in hydrogen peroxide and brushed it over her skin. "About Juice."

The look he gave her was significant, and she understood this time. He'd seen the damage the club was doing, and he'd stepped in the only way he could. It seemed he'd told her the truth the other night: he and Juice truly _were_ square, and he was disgusted with Jax' games.

"What will you tell him?" she said.

He hitched a shoulder. "Let him believe Juicy did his dirty work. Maybe he'll finally be satisfied."

Juice grunted. "He said he was satisfied after Clay."

"Aye," Chibs said. His voice was grim and he loaded a hundred meanings into that small word. "Seems he changed his mind." He pressed a bandage to the worst spot and sat back to prepare another one. "Next time he tries to put you in a spot like that, Juicy, come to me. It's one thing to give you a chance to earn your way back in; it's another to move the finish line every time you think you've won."

Olivia hesitated. She wasn't sure how much latitude she had here. "Are you going to confront him?"

Chibs glared down at her leg. "No. Not this time. But I am gonna keep an eye on him. I love that lad, but he's in dangerous territory. He needs to understand that _VP_ doesn't mean _yes man_, and that he can't keep making decisions for the entire club."

Suddenly she giggled. They peered at her and she waved a hand.

"It's just—I just—It's not a Jaxocracy, it's a Jaxtatorship." She pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter, but her eyes danced and her cheeks were flushed. She couldn't stop giggling, like it was the most hilarious thing she'd ever heard.

He and Juice shared a nonplussed look. Juice shrugged.

"Gettin' a little loopy, lass? Aye." He patted her knee. "Happens to the best of us."

She cleared her throat and tried to calm down. She got control of the giggle fit, but her lips still twitched with mirth. "What, um. What will you do about Nero?"

"He doesn't need to know," Juice said. "He already had to kill his cousin today. He doesn't need to know about the girl, too."

"Aye," Chibs agreed. "It would only muddle things for him. He's unhappy about the guns anyway, especially after what happened at the school. He doesn't need more to worry about."

"I think we're all pretty fucking unhappy about what happened at the school," she said, all traces of amusement gone.

"You're not wrong," Juice said, quietly.

Chibs applied the last bandage and stripped off the gloves. He pulled the blanket up over her legs. "That's going to smart a while longer, lass, but there's no real harm done. Let that oxy do its work. Try to rest. As soon as everything's wrapped up here we'll get you back home."

She nodded. Her eyes were going fuzzy, and as he watched they drifted shut. He smiled down at her a moment before he jerked his head at Juice. They huddled near the door and Chibs' voice dropped to a whisper.

"I'll tell Jackie boy and the others the girl was alive when I left the room, and you were right behind me. No one else has to know what happened in there today."

Juice's expression was wary. "What do I have to do?"

"What d'you mean, lad?"

"What do I owe you? What do you need me to do so we're square?"

Chibs stared at him a moment before his chin dropped. Her made a low noise of displeasure and shook his head. "Ach, Juicy boy, this is fucked shit up indeed."

He rested a hand on Juice's arm and looked him in the eye. "You don't owe me a thing, brother. But if you want to repay me…" His gaze drifted to the bed; Juice's eyes followed. "Take care of her. She's a woman of fine mettle, and there are few like her." He paused. "Reminds me a bit of my own Fiona."

Juice recognized a warning when he heard one. He wanted to reassure him, to tell him that he'd never let anything happen to her…but who was he kidding? Since they'd been together she'd been beaten in her own home and shot. That hadn't been too bad, thankfully, but it never would've happened without the club—and she was only still attached to the club because of him.

"I don't know if I can keep her safe, Chibs," he admitted, his voice thick. "I haven't done a great job of it so far."

Chibs' mouth twisted. "I can imagine she'd tell you she's a grown woman who makes her own choices. She knows the dangers of this life. She understands the risks she's takin' on. Don't insult her by thinkin' she doesn't, or by tryin' to choose for her."

He frowned and looked away, but at last he nodded. Chibs gave him one final clap on the shoulder and walked out. Juice didn't move for a long time after the door closed behind him. He watched Olivia sleep: the way her chest rose and fell. The line of pain between her brows. The pale cast to her cheeks. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

He dropped down into the chair by the bed and her eyes opened. She gave him a vague smile.

"Hey, handsome," she said.

"Hey, beautiful." He brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. "I thought you were sleeping."

"Was. Am. Kind of." She shifted and grimaced.

"How's the leg?"

"Umm. Not too bad. Still hurts, but I don't care as much." She tugged his hand. "Come get in bed with me."

His lips quirked. "Liv, I don't really think—"

"Get your mind outta the gutter, Ortiz. I'm just cold. You see what Chibs did to my pants?"

"Um hum. Easier than takin' them off."

"I guess," she said. She eased up onto her side and he crawled in behind her. Curled himself around her and pressed his mouth to her hair.

"Get some rest, babe. I think they're gonna bury Arcadio. After that I'll take you home."

"Not sure I'm up for a bike ride," she murmured.

He grinned. "I'll tie you on."

"Oh good. Such a gentleman."

"Yeah." His thoughts turned toward the dead girl in the other room and he shuddered. "I'm a fuckin' prince."

* * *

_Obviously this a huuuuge departure from canon. Okay, lemme say this first: I always intended for her to get shot here. Like, from day 1. HOWEVER! I came up with the attack during the home invasions on the fly, so once I did that I thought I'd change it so that she _didn't_ get shot...but that just didn't work. At all. What happens in this chapter is pretty fuckin' pivotal for the rest of s6, esp near the end of s6. So I just made the gunshot really minor and more just a lot of pain than anything else. (also I did some research into what buckshot can actually do to the human body and. no.)_

_Anyway. As for the Chibs thing, after last chapter and what happened there, I knew things had to fall out differently here. And we all know Chibs, at this point, was getting kinda pissed at the Jaxtatorship. Are we looking at mutiny? Fuck no, that'd be ooc as hell. But I do think, as loyal as Chibs is to Jax, he also realizes that there are ways one should behave. And Jax is violating that a bit._

_Oh, and a bit o' random: if anyone can explain to me why the cover photo insists on being blurry when I made it to the specifications listed on the site, I'd love to hear about it. Shoot me a PM. (I hate that it's blurry. It looks so cute on my computer and then all blergh when I upload it.)_


	33. You Hit the Brakes, But

Thank you so much for the lovely reviews from 32. :) I had a tiny block on this one and they really helped me power through.

* * *

**well i've had a mighty bad run of luck since you left town**  
**sometimes you hit the brakes but you can't slow down**  
**i know what i want on my damn tombstone**  
**when they put me in the ground**  
**tell them to write it big and tall or not at all**  
**just put i'm good now**  
Bob Schneider, "I'm Good Now"

She was awake, but she didn't want to open her eyes. She could hear birds in the tree outside. The room was warm as sunlight poured through the window. All the smells were familiar and homey: lavender mint room spray. Clean sheets. Juice.

He was pressed against her back with an arm thrown lightly around her. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of sleep. She twined her fingers through his and lay still.

Her hip hurt, a sharp stinging pain, but it wasn't as bad as yesterday. The ride home had been pretty rough (_not_ on the back of a bike, of course), but with another oxy on board she'd endured with a sort of fuzzy-headed resignation. She was still hungover from all the drugs. She needed a shower to clear her head, and she wanted to go back to work.

Maybe just a half day, she thought as she shifted and winced.

Juice made an incoherent, sleepy noise and his hand tightened around hers. He lifted his head a little and kissed her temple. "Morning," he said, his voice still thick. "Sleep okay?"

"Considering how much dope I was on? Yeah. Slept like a baby."

He untangled his fingers from hers and skimmed his palm over her leg.

"Not too bad," she said in response to his questioning look. "I think I might live."

He grinned. "That's a relief."

She settled back down and pulled his arm around her again. He traced his nose against the back of her neck to the curve of her shoulder. She let out a soft sigh. She never could have imagined that moments like this—warm, quiet, easy—would be her favorite parts of the day. She held out her hand, palm up, and he rested his palm on hers.

"What?" he said with a hint of puzzled amusement.

"Nothing. I just really like your hands." She pulled it to her mouth and pressed her lips against his knuckles. He had a scrape across one, no doubt from something the club had him doing. She brushed her tongue over it. "I like it when you wear the gloves."

"Oh yeah?" he said.

"Mmhhmm. But I like you even better without them." She sucked his index finger into her mouth and he hissed. She slid it out again and kissed the pad of each finger.

"What's on your mind, babe?" he said, his voice deep and rich against her ear.

"Just thinking."

"I can tell that. About what?"

She used her tongue to trace the length of his life line. "About all the nice things you do to me with these hands."

"Oh," he said. He tugged out of her grip and let his palm fall to cup her breast. "Like this, you mean?"

"Like that," she murmured, a little breathlessly, as he kneaded the soft flesh.

He kissed the curve of her ear and the corner of her jaw. Ran his thumb over her nipple to feel it pucker and firm. Tugged it between his fingers. She made a low noise of pleasure as she pressed back and felt him growing hard against her ass. He nipped the curve of her shoulder with his lips and lathed her with his tongue.

He slid his hand underneath her camisole. Her skin was soft like velvet, his hand callused and just a bit rough. He held her nipple between his knuckles as he palmed her breast.

"You taste so good," he murmured between soft, sucking kisses to her neck.

"Ha," she said on a breathless laugh. "Yeah, like gunpowder."

He went still and his hand slid down to rest on her stomach. "Olivia, you got lucky yesterday."

"You think I don't know that? It's part of why I'm so eager to get lucky right _now_."

He made a small sound that somehow combined disapproval and lust. She laughed again and his hand moved lower.

"I'm serious," he said. "I was standing on the porch and I saw you go down—Jesus, it was the worst moment of my life."

"I'm okay, though. Hardly any damage."

"I know," he said. "It might not've worked out that way, though, and after the home invasion thing—"

"Hey." She pulled his fingers to her mouth and kissed them. "None of this shit is your fault. I don't blame you for any of it." She guided his hand between her legs. Pressed it against her. "And clearly I'm not mad."

His fingertips dipped between her lips and she let out a ragged breath. "Please, baby," she whispered.

"You're so wet," he rasped. He slid a finger partway into her and pulled it out again as his thumb brushed over her clit.

She bit her lip. "It was scary for me too, Juicy. And now I just want—I want—"

"What do you want, sweetheart?" He circled her clit with the pad of his thumb. She whimpered. "You want to come?"

"You know I do."

He ran a finger up and down her slit. Then two, spread, to caress her inner lips. "Play with your breasts for me, baby," he murmured against her neck. "Pinch your nipples the way you like."

She moaned softly at the feel of his hot breath on her skin, his low, rough voice in her ear. She did as he said, pulling the camisole up and rolling first one, then the other nipple between her fingers.

"Like this?" she said, her voice thready.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Just like that." He thrust two fingers inside her and held them there as his thumb flicked back and forth across her clit. She squirmed a little and he bit the back of her neck. "Shh," he said. "Hush."

"I can't—Juicy, please!"

"I got you, baby," he said. "I got you."

He moved his fingers in a slow, steady rhythm that he broke up by pressing them against the back wall or twisting them inside her. Her head fell back and he ran his tongue up the pale column of her throat.

"Good, Livvie?" he said, and his desperate, edgy tone made her pant.

"Yeah, babe. So good. Don't stop. Fuck oh God like that—!"

Her hand moved down to grab his, to grind it against her, and he drew in a sharp hiss.

"Now who's eager?" he said with a grin.

"That'd—be me," she said between gasps. "Absolutely—me."

He laughed. His thumb flicked faster and harder across her clit as his fingers worked inside her. "You gonna come for me, baby?"

"Fuck! Yes, Juicy, yeah a little more that's so good, baby, so good—!" Her fingers tightened around his wrist as her cunt clenched and sucked him in deeper.

"That's right, Livvie," he whispered. His mouth found the sensitive spot behind her ear and he swirled his tongue against it as the orgasm rocked through her. "That's right, baby."

She moaned his name again and again, a sweet litany, until she was too breathless to speak. Her body was taut, her back bowed, and sweat adhered strands of hair to her temples. He kissed her there, flicked the salty droplets with his tongue, and wiggled his fingers inside.

Finally she fell back with a long sigh and he eased out of her. He offered her his index finger and she pulled it into her mouth to lick clean. He took care of the other one with a pleased grin.

"Feel better?" he said.

"Getting there. You?"

"Um. Feeling _something_, that's for sure."

She laughed and reached behind her, but he caught her hand. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing wrong, exactly, just…" He cleared his throat. "Can I ask you a question?" he said. "It's about—about yesterday."

"Mmmm. Yeah, go for it." She tried to concentrate; he sounded serious; but she could feel his erection, insistent and firm, as he pressed close. It was distracting.

Apparently he thought so, too, because for a moment he seemed to forget his preoccupation and instead concentrated on trying to find a position where she couldn't tease him _quite_ so much—but he gave up when he realized he'd have to pull away completely, and he didn't want to do that.

She smirked and rested a hand on his thigh. "You had a question?"

"Oh," he said. "I really did."

"I believe you," she said and bit her lip as he rocked into her.

He froze. "Did that hurt? Are you okay? Shit, I'm sorry, I—"

She squeezed his leg. "Hush. Just tell me what's on your mind."

He sighed and raised up on his elbow. She twisted a little so she could see his face. "How did you know?" he said after a long moment.

"Ahh…well." She lifted a shoulder. "I hoped I was wrong, but…it just made sense. Clearly she was unstable, and she could do a lot to hurt SAMCRO." Her eyes flicked away. "I thought about what I might do, in Jax's position."

There was an incredulous silence and she sneaked a look at him. "You're kidding, right?" he said.

"I don't mean I would actually _do_ it, Juice—or, well. I wouldn't ask someone else to do it for me. I'd do it my own goddamn self because it's my fucking dirty work. But I knew he wouldn't. He'd want to at least _pretend_ his hands were clean.

"I thought he could ask Happy, but even as much as Happy likes wet work that might be too much for him. And Tig—well. Ever since Dawn, there's no way he could kill an innocent girl like that. Maybe not even before, but _especially_ not since."

He grunted and fell onto the mattress. "But not me. I could do it."

She shifted onto her back and tugged him up to face her. He came reluctantly, and his gaze dragged to hers. "Baby, no. That's not what I meant at all. I knew he would play the guilt card. I knew he'd threaten you if he had to. There's an imbalance of power there that he exploits when it's most convenient for him."

"I don't know," he said, dully. "That just seems like an excuse to me."

"As far as excuses go it's a pretty good one."

His mouth twisted and he snapped back into focus. He ran a thumb down the line of her nose and over her full lips. "Would you still love me if I'd done it?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

He shook his head as his face crumpled in on itself. "Why?" he said. "I don't get it, Liv. Why me?"

"That's a silly question, Ortiz."

"No, it's not. You look at me, and it's like…it's like you're seeing a different person. Someone who's not such a fuck up. Someone who's good and maybe kinda smart and—I don't know. Not me."

She sighed and brushed a tear off his cheek before it could fall. "Do I strike you as the type of woman who invites strange men back to her hotel room?"

"No," he said with a brief shake of his head. "Not at all."

"Then why do you think I made an exception for you that night?"

"I ask myself that all the time."

Her lips quirked. "When I look at you I _don't_ see a fuck up. I see a man who's been through shit. Who's _done_ shit. But who, at the end of the day, always wants to do the right thing. In this life, baby, morality is fucked up and twisted around and doesn't always make sense. That's why it's so hard for you."

"I'm weak," he said.

"No. Listen to me. The guys who can kill someone or watch someone being killed or…I don't know…get blown up and not be affected by it? Those are the guys who scare me. Honestly, until Tig lost his daughter he scared the ever-living shit out of me. I mean, I knew he'd never hurt me—unless the club asked him to. Or Happy. I like Happy; I genuinely do. But don't leave me in a room alone with him.

"Why you? After six years on the run, why do I show up in Charming, California and fall for the cute biker boy with the sad smile and the battered heart…? I don't know. Maybe I'm not as smart as I think I am. Or, at least, not as"—she remembered the conversation with Gemma yesterday—"hard and bitter as I should be."

"That's not a bad thing," he said.

"Oh. It's okay for me to be soft and not for you? That's some double standard bullshit, Ortiz. I might not be the one pulling the trigger, but every time you come home broken, I feel it." She grabbed him by the ears and pulled him down for a kiss. "I don't know _why_ I love you, Juice. What a question. All I know is that I _do_. Isn't that enough?"

His eyes were wide and he stared down at her in amazement. "Of course it is, Olivia. I didn't mean—"

She kissed him again. "Shut up, Ortiz. Just tell me you love me, okay?"

"I love you, Liv. Like a shitfaced drunk."

She laughed; her fingers danced over his chest. "Wow. So romantic."

He grinned and kissed her nose. "Baby, if I thought you wanted romance I'd buy you the whole fuckin' flower shop." Her chin. "I'd hire a skywriter to write you poetry a mile high." The corner of her jaw. "I'd take you to Paris and get a room with a view of the Eiffel Tower and we'd eat snails and drink wine and I'd make you come all goddamn day."

She giggled. He pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it away. She tugged him back down to her, but he just skimmed his mouth over hers. Their breath mingled. They brushed noses.

"That's maybe the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, Juice Ortiz," she said, quietly.

"Yeah?" he murmured. He traced her lips with his tongue.

"Mmhhmm. I'm gonna have to punch a wall just to get some of my old cynicism back."

"Nah," he said. His mouth was warm and easy against hers. "You don't need it anymore."

Her brows drew together. She ran a hand over his head and down the back of his neck. "Maybe I don't," she said.

Gemma was wrong: life _could_ make you hard and bitter, but it didn't _have_ to. And just as it dealt you blows and knocked you down, sometimes it could lift you up, and put you back together, and make you feel like the person you'd never thought you would be again.

* * *

In all the excitement of…well, getting shot…Olivia had almost forgotten her physical therapy appointment scheduled for later that day. She decided to get to the hospital early in the hopes of catching Tara. She hadn't seen her since she'd gotten out of jail.

Maybe she'd get her to take a look at her leg. Just to be safe. It wasn't that she didn't trust Chibs—and it was too late for stitches anyway—but still. It couldn't hurt.

Phil agreed to cover her shift at TM, but he was surprised she'd even asked. No one was expecting her in today after what happened. She stood by what she'd told Gemma day one, though: she wasn't a flake, and that meant getting her shift covered if she wasn't going to be there.

It took her longer than usual to get dressed, and not just because she was moving slowly. In the end she chose an above-the-knee length green dress, sleeveless and high cut. She skirt was flared so that it didn't brush her thigh. She reluctantly passed over a pair of candy red wedges and went instead for black and white Mary Janes with the lowest heel she owned that wasn't a pure flat. After she put them on and walked from her bedroom to the front door, she turned around and changed into white Keds.

She called Tara on her way to the hospital, and once she got there she went straight up to her office. They exchanged hugs and Tara immediately led her to a chair.

"How's your leg?" she said as she watched her limp.

"It's nothing. Hurts, but that's about it." Olivia cast a meaningful glance at the wrap around Tara's palm. "How's your hand?"

"He said as long as I quit hitting people with it it'll be fine."

Olivia's mouth quirked. "That can be a hard urge to ignore. Especially when they really deserve it."

Tara acknowledged that with a wry tilt of her head before her expression turned solemn. "Portland pulled their offer."

"Shit. So what's plan B?"

"For that? I don't really have one. Right now I'm concentrating on making sure my kids are safe if I go to jail."

"Tara, you won't—"

"I might." She hesitated. "It wasn't Gemma who ratted me out to the cops."

"I didn't really think it was. Didn't seem like her style. Who, then?"

Tara let out a long breath. "The nurse Otto killed? Her brother is a retired US Marshal."

She fell back in the chair. Winced as her hip bumped it and sat up straight again. "Some days it really feels like you can't win for losin'."

"He's out for blood, Ollie. He wants to _end_ SAMCRO."

"Can you blame him? The club's the reason his sister's dead. I might feel the same way in his position."

"True," Tara said with a grimace. "But, I don't know. There's something about this guy—he just gave me the creeps. He offered WITSEC for the boys and me if I agreed to testify against the club."

Olivia's brow furrowed. "What did you say?"

"I told him I'm not a rat. I don't want Jax or Gemma to have my kids, but I also don't want their father in jail."

"Yeah, about that." She leaned closer. "If not Jax and not Gemma, who?

She looked away and Olivia frowned. "Wendy," she said. "Still? Even after the way Jax reacted before?"

"She's the only choice left. And she is Abel's mother."

"_You're_ Abel's mother. Wendy just gave birth to him—and almost killed him with drugs."

"You think I don't know that? I'm the one who put him back together again." She ran shaking hands through her shorn hair and shook her head. "She's clean now, and she's sincere about staying that way. She wants to help."

"Okay," she said with a flick of her brows. They were Tara's kids, and if she thought Wendy was the best choice, Olivia didn't have room to argue. "So how are you gonna convince Jax?"

"First I have to get Gemma out of the way."

"Uh. We aren't talkin' about killing anybody are we?"

Tara waved a hand. "Not exactly. Look. I've got a plan, but it's…it's out there. If you don't want to help, I would understand."

Olivia tugged at her lower lip a moment. "No. Tell me."

She lined it all out: Wendy's faked attack to get close to Gemma. Tara's faked pregnancy. "She's punched me in the gut before. I can goad her into doing it again. I know I can."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Olivia said and rubbed the space between her eyes. "Tara—"

"Like I said, Ollie, if you're out, I understand."

"I'm not out. I just…are you sure about this? Jax will think he lost a child. Gemma will think she killed her own grandkid!" She paused. "Have you told her you're pregnant?"

"Right after I got out of jail."

She made a doubtful noise. "It's gonna be hard, Tara. Gemma might be dangerous and kind of unhinged, but she wouldn't do anything to purposefully put her family at risk. Not like that."

"She got high and drove with my children in the car," Tara snapped.

"I know that, and it was a stupid mistake—"

"Because she's unstable, Ollie! Unstable enough that I can push her into making another one."

Olivia held up her hands. "Okay. It's your plan, and I'll go along with it. I'm not sure what I can do, though. It sounds like you and Wendy have things under control."

"You're closer to the club than I am. Jax doesn't tell me things anymore, not like he used to—and, honestly…" She trailed off and dropped Olivia's eyes. "I can barely stand for him to touch me. I can't even look at him. He tells me he loves me, and I just…"

"You don't have to explain, Tara. I get it." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Juice tells me what he knows, but who knows how much that is. I'll pass along anything I can. What are you looking for specifically?"

"I have a huge amount of evidence from both Wendy and me about Jax's violent history, but Ally Lowen says I'll need some current examples, too."

"Hum." Olivia shifted her weight. "How about a mechanic with buckshot in her hip?"

"Couldn't hurt. If you wrote down everything that's happened to you, personally, or that you've witnessed since you've been in Charming—"

"I thought you weren't ratting."

"No, it's not for criminal charges. It's just to establish a pattern, so he'll be deemed an unfit guardian."

"Yeah," she said after a moment. "Yeah, I can do that." She hesitated. "Do you really think—assuming you're convicted, which I don't think you will be, but just for argument's sake—that Jax will just let Wendy ride off with his kids? Don't you think he'll try to get them back?"

"Legally he won't be able to. And, yeah, he's got no problem breaking the law, but kidnapping is something else altogether."

"What if he killed her?"

Tara stared. "Wendy? He wouldn't—"

"Tara. Let me tell you what happened yesterday." She started at the beginning, with stuff Tara already knew, and told her about Darvany and Arcadio and the kid, Matthew. She told her about how she got shot and how strung out Darvany was. When she got to the part about Juice, Tara held up a hand to stop her.

"Jax ordered—he ordered him to kill her?" she repeated, disbelieving.

"Yeah. Threatened him with…well, that's another topic that I'd rather not get into, but let's say Jax has some dirt on Juice. He threatened to spill it—virtually insuring Juice's death—if he didn't kill the girl."

"Did he?" she said, her voice strained.

"No, but only because Chibs got there in time." She paused. "Chibs killed her, because otherwise Jax would've made good on his threat to Juice."

"Holy shit," she murmured. Her skin was pale with two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. "Holy Mother of God."

* * *

By the time Olivia was on her way out of the hospital it was almost dark. She and Tara had talked for nearly an hour more, but they hadn't come up with a solution to the "what-if" Olivia had proposed. If Wendy were dead (or seriously hurt), who would take the boys then? She partially thought they were making trouble where there wasn't any, but these days there was very little she trusted about SAMCRO.

She was lost in her musings and bumped into a man coming in as she was going out. "Sorry, excuse me," she said and started around him. She didn't look up. Didn't look him in the face.

"No, my fault, excuse me." He paused and put a hand on her arm. "Do I know you?" he said. "You look so familiar to me."

She froze and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. He was big and bearded, with a long brown ponytail. His expression was friendly enough, open and bland, but something about his eyes chilled her.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't think so." She flashed a brittle smile and walked on.

He got a few steps away before he stopped and turned. "Wait!" he said. "I know! Audra! Audra Munro! Wow, how long's it been?"

Terror flashed through her, hot and white and crippling. She spun toward him, and he was still looking at her with an easy grin. He moved closer and she fell back. He lifted a hand.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Munro. Did I startle you? My mistake. I should introduce myself." His smile deepened and his cold dead eyes practically sparkled with faux bonhomie. "I'm Lee Toric. Federal Marshal, retired."

He stepped closer still and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you know what marshals do, Ms. Munro?"

She was almost panting with fear, and her face was parchment white. "They—um—fugitives."

"I'm sorry?" he said and cupped his ear. "I didn't quite hear you."

She cleared her throat and tried again. "They apprehend fugitives."

He clapped his hands together and she nearly jumped out of her skin. "That's right! That's exactly what they do. Or, at least one thing that they do. That's the thing that matters right now, isn't it?"

"You're retired," she said.

"That's true. I am. But I have friends, Ms. Munro. I have quite a few friends."

"It's _Gable_," she spat. She swallowed down the hard lump in her throat and glared at him. "It's legal and everything. Surely you know that, what with all the research you've clearly done."

"I do know," he said. "But, Ms.—ah, Gable, forgive me—maybe we should find some place a little more private to speak?"

She closed her eyes a moment, and when she opened them again her gaze was clear and cool. "What do you want from me, Mr. Toric?"

He dropped his hand and shrugged a shoulder. "It's simple. I want the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club. I want to rip it apart piece by piece. I want to burn it to the ground and dance on its ashes." He grinned and tapped a finger against her wrist. "You, Ms. Gable, are just the woman to help me do that."

* * *

_I'm gleefully excited, you guys. You've got no idea._

_Having said that, tomorrow's (7/17) my birthday, so I probably won't publish. Tune in on Friday to see what happens next!_


	34. Darkness on the Floor

Aaaannnd we're back! I didn't intend this chapter to be so long. It got away from me a bit.

Enjoy, and drop me some more of those beautiful, beautiful reviews if you feel inclined! :D

* * *

**and they danced in the darkness on the floor**  
**the world kept spinning 'round like it's always done before**  
**the people in the club said "they don't make a pretty pair"**  
**but the tin man and the witch, they didn't seem to care, no**  
**'cause love don't give a damn about what other people say**  
**does what it wants it's always been that way**  
**that's the way it was, the way it will be again**  
**forever and ever and ever amen**  
Bob Schneider, "Let the Light In"

"You realize if you ship this woman back to Atlanta she probably won't make it there alive!" Eli said. He was furious, up in Toric's face, but the bigger man just smiled a little.

"I think you're being a bit melodramatic, Sheriff. The Marshals would see she got to Georgia in one piece."

"And then what? You got any clue who this guy is who's after her? Because I've done some digging since she first dropped his name, and it ain't pretty."

Toric waved a hand. "Mick Doyle isn't really my concern right now. SAMCRO is. She has an option if she would just take it."

"Right," Eli said. His face twisted in disgust. "You've got about a day and a half left to charge her or I'm letting her go. Got it?"

He smiled. "That shouldn't be a problem."

Eli shook his head and stormed away. Toric watched him go with a knowing little grin before he sauntered into the interrogation room and closed the door behind him. Olivia was seated at the table, and at the sound of the door she raised her head. She looked worn out; her forehead was lined, her skin pale, and deep shadows circled her eyes.

"Ms. Gable," he said, his tone affable. "Can I get you anything? Something to drink?"

"A fucking lawyer," she said for roughly the thousandth time.

He ignored her, as he'd done every other time she'd said it. Instead he opened the folder he carried and dropped a series of pictures on the table. She glanced down at them and back up at him with a bored expression.

"I'm sure you recognize these, Ms. Gable. The crime scene photos from your husband's murder."

"Do you think this will upset me?"

"The problem isn't that you killed him, per se. Battered Women's Syndrome isn't usually an effective defense, especially in the South, but your case is compelling." He pushed one picture closer. "The problem is that after you escaped, you came back. Not only that, but it's fairly clear the first shot was the one to his groin. Those aren't the actions of a desperate, frightened woman. They're the actions of a vigilante."

She made an uninterested noise and her eyes flicked away.

"We have two choices here, and they're really very simple: either you tell me what I want to know about SAMCRO and I get you WITSEC and immunity for this murder, or I ship you back to Atlanta and you get charged."

"I've been sold that song and dance before, Mr. Toric. It turned out to be bullshit. Why would I believe you?"

He tapped one of the pictures with his index finger. His smile was cold and precise. "When you killed your husband, you were a woman on a mission. I don't believe anything could have stopped you from going through with it."

He paused and leaned closer. "Look in my eyes, Ms. Gable. I think you'll recognize what you see there."

"Revenge isn't the same thing as justice, Mr. Toric. I'm sorry you can't understand that." She shoved his pictures at him and bared her teeth. "I'm not saying another goddamn word until I have a _lawyer_."

He sighed and rose from his chair. His mouth puckered into a regretful moue. "I'll leave you be for a bit. If you decide you want to chat, just knock on the window."

She waited until he was gone to bury her face in her hands. She was fucked. Well and thoroughly fucked. He hadn't started the extradition yet, but it was only a matter of time. He wanted SAMCRO so bad she knew he would put it off as long as possible, but Eli knew she was here. He wouldn't let Toric detain her indefinitely—which meant the situation might force his hand.

There was no way in hell he was going to let her go, but she also seriously doubted he'd actually let her get extradited out of his reach. So what options did that leave him?

The room had no clock, of course, and she never wore a watch. How long had she been here? They'd fed her twice. Not a full day, but surely it was getting close. They could hold her for forty-eight hours without charging her. She didn't know if he'd gotten the DA's office involved yet or not, but she was sure once he did charges would be inevitable.

And then it was back to Atlanta and whatever fate awaited her.

Jail would be a relief. She wasn't afraid of jail. And, like she'd told Gemma, she wasn't even _that_ afraid of dying. What had her scared was what Teddy would do to her _before_ he killed her. And how long it would last.

She shuddered and scrubbed her hands through her hair. The neat crown that she'd braided before leaving for the hospital (yesterday?) was coming undone, so she pulled the pins and replaced it with a simple french braid down her back. The act of braiding her hair was calming. Familiar. She could let her fingers work while her mind drifted, and for the few minutes it took she felt a slight peace.

She spread her fingers and pressed her palms to the table. There was a new scar on the outside of her right wrist from the surgery. She had a nick across the third knuckle in on her left hand. Otherwise her skin was pale and smooth and dusted lightly with freckles. Her hands. Familiar hands. The same hands that had pulled the trigger and killed TJ Flanary.

She refused to regret it. If she hadn't done it she wouldn't be in this mess now, but if she hadn't done it…she might never have come to Charming in the first place.

She would never, ever regret coming here. No matter what happened or how it fell out.

The door opened again, and this time it was Eli. He gestured to the other chair and she nodded. She accepted the bottle of water he offered with a grateful smile.

"Thanks," she said.

"How's it going?"

She shrugged. "So far he's refused to get me a lawyer."

Eli scowled. "I can call you one if you want." He paused. "He can only hold you forty-eight hours before they file charges. You've been here about eighteen."

"Has Georgia actually charged me with this murder, or just issued the warrant?"

"You haven't been charged with anything, Olivia." He leaned forward. "I want to ask you something completely off the record. It will stay between you and me."

Her brow furrowed. "Okay…?"

"Why did you come back to kill him? If you'd done it before you left it would've looked better for you. You could have just shot him and walked away. Instead you staged this elaborate plan that could have failed at any point, and then you risked everything by coming back. I don't get it."

She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. There was no observation window in the room, and if Eli said this was off the record then she trusted him. Still, it was hard to talk about at all, much less to a cop.

"I wasn't going to kill him," she said. "I didn't _want_ to kill him. Of course I hated him and I hoped he'd spend the rest of his days with annoying shit like—when you have an itch on the bottom of your foot and you're wearing shoes, or you have a tiny cut on your finger and get lemon juice in it. You know, little miseries."

His mouth twisted in sardonic appreciation.

"The day before I left I found out he had someone on the side." She waved a hand. "I didn't care. It kept him away from me. But then…" She took a moment to sip from the bottle. "He wanted her to take my place. And, let me tell you, TJ Flanary was not the type of man to get a divorce."

"You think he was planning to kill you?"

"I know it. I mean, there's no doubt in my mind. At first when I realized my plan was going to work I was just relieved. It was over, I was out, I had won. Then I started thinking."

She shook her head and her gaze turned inward. "The new girl was going to take my place. Not just as TJ's wife, but as his punching bag. I thought about her being locked in the same room he locked me in every night. I thought about—well. I thought about a lot of things, and I wondered what would happen when he got tired of her, too."

"Another dead Mrs. Flanary," he said, grimly.

"Right. Dead wives startin' to stack up like fuckin' Bluebeard." She brushed her fingers across her eyes. "Anyway, after that I couldn't just go. I couldn't let it happen to someone else. I weighed what I could live with, and in the end I knew I could live with TJ's death on my conscience—but I could never live with knowing I'd let some other poor girl get trapped in my old life."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was quiet for so long she started to fidget. Finally, "You know I don't want to jam you up on this shit, Olivia. If it were just an arrest warrant and I thought you'd be facing a trial or a plea it would be different. But you say it won't get that far."

"It won't, Eli. I mean"—her lips moved in a humorless smile—"where do you think TJ learned all his tricks?"

"A chip off the old block, huh?"

"You got it. And daddy dearest was always worse. Always."

He hated how she said that as if she knew from personal experience. He didn't ask her to elaborate. Instead he collected the pictures Toric had left and flipped them facedown. "Toric's been given direct authorization from the DA's office to do what he needs to do to take down SAMCRO. Carte blanche, basically. This school shooting bullshit has everyone on the warpath."

"I don't blame them, to be honest. There's nothing worse than dead kids."

"That's the goddamn truth." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't like him, and I sure as hell don't like what's happening here, but right now his vote overrules mine. My hands are tied until the forty-eight hours are up, and if he starts extradition before then—" He broke off with a helpless shrug.

"I know," she said. "I appreciate you trying."

"I can get you that lawyer, though."

"What I really need is to make a phone call. Everyone will be wondering where I am, and I wouldn't put it past Toric to tell them I've turned rat just for shits and giggles."

He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her for a long time. "You could do it, Olivia. Tell him what he wants to know. You'd get WITSEC and you'd be out."

She sighed and sat back. "Haven't we had this discussion before?"

"Take Juice with you," he said with an impatient frown.

"I'm not sure if he'd go," she said after a moment. Her voice was small and a little sad.

He snorted. "Then he doesn't deserve you anyway."

"It's not easy to ask someone to give up their entire life, Eli; especially when the reason they're doing it goes against everything they believe in."

He drummed his fingers on the table, his face drawn in a glower. Finally he let out a huff of breath. "Okay, Olivia. Let's hope he wants SAMCRO bad enough to keep you here rather than send you to Georgia."

"He's a desperate and angry man. They're the most dangerous kind, but they're also the easiest to read. He won't have me extradited. He won't go to your boss with my file. He'll let the forty-eight hours run out, and then he'll let me go with a whole series of threats and promises and warnings. And once I'm out, he'll harass me nonstop until he gets what he wants."

She said it confidently enough, but in truth she wasn't entirely sure what Toric had in mind. Yes, she was good at reading unpredictable men, but he had an added layer of madness and obsession that skewed her readings of him and informed every decision he made.

"You don't sound too concerned about that," Eli said. _He_ didn't sound like he'd bought her bravado.

She pulled a face. "Harassment—even from a man like Lee Toric—is small potatoes. I just have to make sure the club doesn't think I've flipped."

"It was before my time, but I know what happened to Opie Winston's wife."

"That was Clay's doing."

"You think Jax wouldn't do the same?"

Her expression stilled and her eyes went hard. "Honestly? I wouldn't put a goddamn thing past Jackson Teller these days."

"Yeah," he said. "That's what I thought."

* * *

When Jax saw what those neo-Nazi dickbags had done to the garage, his first thought (after making sure Unser was okay) was that Ollie was gonna flip her shit. Chucky told him she was due in later, and part of him wanted to let someone else break the news…but he realized that was kind of shitty (and a little cowardly), so with a grim sigh he dialed her number.

There was no answer, which surprised him, so he left a message. He dialed Juice next, but he said he'd crashed at his place last night because it was so late by the time he got back from Stockton. He said he hadn't talked to her either, but he figured she was just sleeping when he'd called.

"I can run by her place and see," he said, his tone worried.

"Nah. She'll be in in an hour or two," Jax said. "I just wanted to prepare her first. Get on down here. We gotta take care of this shit."

There was silence on the line. And then, reluctantly, "Yeah, okay. I'm on my way."

Mid-afternoon, and Juice still hadn't heard from her. He checked his phone like a worried mother, but nothing. He tried not to read too much into it: he'd seen the garage, and he knew she'd be busy with it all day. But still. It wasn't like her.

After the shit with the Aryans went down he saw he had a missed call fromTM. Probably her, he thought. Jax was in a god-awful hurry to get to the warehouse (something about Phil and the Irish), so reluctantly Juice pocketed his phone and mounted up.

After the nasty scene at the warehouse with poor Phil and Vi-Lin, Jax had been more incensed than ever. He insisted they take care of the Aryans right then, no matter what anyone else said, and so once again they were off to commit some Mayhem.

By the time they finally got back to the clubhouse evening was coming on. Juice noticed her car wasn't in its usual spot. Chucky came out to meet them as they pulled in, and he waved Juice down.

"Did you get my message?" he asked as Juice came to a stop.

"What message, man? It's been pretty crazy."

"I called earlier. Left you a message."

He pulled out his phone. There was still just the one missed call. "This you?" he said.

"Yeah, that's it. I was wondering if you'd heard from Ollie today."

Juice froze. "What do you mean, heard from Ollie?"

"She was supposed to work today and she didn't show up or call or anything. That's not like her. I tried to call her a couple of times but it just went straight to voicemail."

The others had joined them by this time, and Juice and Chibs' eyes met over Chucky's head. Juice felt like his heart had turned to lead, and fear crawled across his skin like a thousand scuttling cockroaches.

"When was the last time you talked to her, lad?"

"Yesterday," he said. "She'd gone to physical therapy, and she called me just before she left the hospital."

"Not since then?" Jax said with a frown.

He held up his hands. "It's been a weird day. How often do you talk to Tara on days like this!?"

Jax conceded the point with a grimace. "Take Rat and head out to her place. I'll call Roosevelt and see if he's heard anything."

"Don't think that'll be necessary," Tig said and jutted his chin toward the gate. "Looks like our good Sheriff makes house calls now."

"Fuck," Juice muttered.

He should've gone to her place last night. He should have followed up after she didn't call. How could he have been so fucking stupid? Doyle was probably looking for her, and she was driving injured. Plus there was this shit with the Irish, and both _Mick Doyle_ and _Teddy Flanary_ were two of the most Irish names Juice had ever heard. A thousand awful scenarios passed through his mind, each one worse than the last.

"Chin up, lad," Chibs murmured. "It might not be as bad as all that."

"When the fuck is it ever _not_ _as bad as all that_?" he said.

Roosevelt pulled to a stop and got out of the car. He made a placating gesture as they went to meet him. His eyes found Juice's, and his face was grim. "First of all, she's fine," he said as though he could read their minds.

"She might have a pretty serious problem, though, and I'm not sure how much I can help her."

* * *

"Wait, okay, explain it again," Tig said. "You can't charge her with anything in California?"

Happy rolled his eyes. "Tig, you got that warrant on you from Oregon. Shouldn't you know these things?"

Eli eyed them sidelong. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. The crime was committed in Georgia, and it's the Atlanta PD that issued the warrant. While she's here we have nothing to charge her with. Toric would have to have her extradited to Atlanta, and they would charge her there."

"But you don't think he's gonna do that," Juice said.

"I doubt it. He wants the club, and he knows once she's gone, that's it. He's lost his chance. He has forty-eight hours to get something out of her before he has to release her."

"She hasn't flipped yet?" Jax said. It was the third time he'd asked it.

Eli glared at him. "No, and she says she isn't going to. I know I don't know her as well as you guys do, but I believe her."

"Does Toric know about Mick Doyle?" Chibs said.

"He doesn't care. He's like a dog with a bone on this thing."

"Otto killed his sister," Tig said. "I'd probably be the same way."

"You're saying at this point Atlanta doesn't know you have her?" Jax said.

"That's right. They would've filed the extradition papers by now. An old murder like this? They want it down."

"Shit," Jax said and scrubbed a hand down his face. He had way too much on his plate right now—the Irish, the Aryans, a dead brother and a dead prospect—to deal with even more bullshit.

"So what can we do?" said Juice.

Eli lifted his hands. "I honestly don't know. At this point it depends on Toric. If he lets the forty-eight hours lapse without filing the paperwork she's free to go. But even if he does that I don't see him dropping any of it. And, of course, if he goes to the DA—well. She would probably order us to call Atlanta anyway."

"So you're saying Ollie's life is in the hands of a madman hell-bent on avenging his sister's murder at the hands of one of our founding members," Chibs said, his voice laced with a healthy dose of irony.

"That's the sum of it, yeah."

There was a long, tense silence. Juice paced away and gripped his head in his hands. They all exchanged nervous looks, and finally Jax said, "I'll call Lowen. At least it'll be something."

Tig glowered. "Maybe we can distract Toric somehow. Keep him busy until the time runs out."

"Like how? Slash his fuckin' tires?" Happy said.

"I don't know, man. He keeps puttin' pressure on Clay, right? What if Clay called him up and said he was ready to talk? And then, like…demanded a bunch of shit that would keep Toric runnin' for a while?"

"That's…not a bad idea, actually," Jax said. He sounded surprised enough that Tig looked a little insulted.

"I can get you in to see him," Eli said.

"Juicy," Chibs called. "Get back over here. We're workin' out a plan."

He wandered their way, but he kept casting glances over his shoulder, back toward his bike. It was clear where he wanted to be.

Jax jerked his head and the guys followed him away from Roosevelt.

"Okay, here's what's gonna happen," he said in a low voice. "Tig and Chibs, stay here and organize everything for the lockdown. Contact SAMBEL and the other charters to let them know what's up. Happy and Rat, hit the warehouse and take care of Phil and Vi-Lin. I'll call Lowen and get her down to the station for Ollie, and then I'll go talk to Clay."

"What about me?" Juice said.

Jax made a face at him. "Go be with your girl, Juice. We're gonna get this asshole off her back, and in the meantime you need to stick as close to her as you can."

He stared at Jax with an incredulous look. "You think she might rat."

"I don't know, Juicy. People've flipped for a lot less than this."

"Not Olivia," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah," Jax said with a snort, "I guess I must've had her confused with someone else."

Juice started toward him, but Chibs stepped between them and pressed a hand against Juice's chest. "All right, lads, enough. None of us really think Ollie's a rat. Do we, Jackie boy?"

He took his eyes off Juice long enough to flash a baleful look over his shoulder. Jax looked away, suddenly ashamed. It had been a low blow to call Juice out like that, even if the others hadn't known what he meant.

"No," he said, gruffly. "She's tough and she's smart. She's not gonna let Toric get to her."

Except even as he said it he wasn't completely sure he believed it. Ollie _was_ tough, there was no doubt about that, but he'd seen her terror the night she'd learned the truth about Potter's deal. It was one hell of a motivator, fear. It could make even the strongest person lose heart. He trusted clear-headed Olivia—but frightened Olivia? She was an unknown quantity.

These days there were very few things Jax hated more than uncertainty.

* * *

When Eli and Juice got back to the station, Eli's first stop was the interrogation room. When he found it empty he felt a momentary lurch of fear. "Hey!" he said to one of the deputies. "Where's Olivia Gable?"

"Oh. That Marshal took her back to holding. She's in the cells."

He sighed a little and gestured for Juice to follow him. She looked up when she heard the door, and an expression of pure relief washed over her.

"How'd it go?" she said.

"They're working on something. And I brought you a visitor."

Juice appeared in the doorway and she jumped up from the bench. A smile spread across her face. Tears sprang to her eyes. She thrust her hands through the bars and he gripped them hard with one hand while his other arm snaked through to cup the back of her neck. He pulled her as close as he could and their foreheads met.

"Hey, babe," he said, his voice thick and rough.

"Hey yourself," she murmured. "I've never been so relieved to see anybody in my life."

"I'm an asshole, Liv. I didn't even realize you were gone until half an hour ago. I crashed at my place last night, and then—fuck, it's been a crazy day."

"It's okay, love. You're here now. That's what matters." She pulled away and brushed the back of her hand across her cheek. She tugged him down to sit with her, and once they were settled their fingers tangled again. "Tell me what's happened."

He drew in a deep breath. "It started first thing. Gemma got to TM this morning and somebody had trashed the garage and beat up Unser."

"Holy shit," she said. "Any idea who?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "The swastika they cut into his chest kinda gave it away."

"Nazis? Seriously?" Her brow furrowed. "Is he okay?"

"Tara stitched him up. He's in pain, but she said he'll be fine. Anyway, Jax had us go hunt down the assholes who did it, and things went kinda weird there. We got away from 'em, though, and then Phil called and said Galen and his boys were at the warehouse."

"I didn't think you did business at the warehouse."

"We don't. We got there as fast as we could, but—fuck, Liv, we were too late. They fucking killed Phil and Vi-Lin." He didn't tell her about their hands. She didn't need to know about that.

She let out a sharp gasp and pressed a shaking hand to her face. "What the fuck, Juice?"

"Yeah. We're on lockdown now and everyone's tense as hell. Chibs is pissed at Jax about the way he's handling things with the Irish, and after all that Jax flipped his shit and we shot up the Aryans and burned down their place. We dumped all the KG-9s on them to try to throw that DA off the club."

"Um. Wow," she said, stunned. She didn't really have an adequate response to all of that. "It, uh. It has been a wild day."

"Uh huh." His mouth twisted. "Not really an excuse, though. I shoulda tried harder to get you on the phone."

"Don't, Juicy. Come on. You had other things on your mind."

"Yeah. I guess." He paused to study her. Took note of the dark circles and pale cheeks. "What's he offering you?"

She hitched a shoulder. "Same old: immunity for TJ and WITSEC if I roll on the club. I've told him to go fuck himself in a dozen creative and colorful ways."

He flashed a brief grin. "You do have a way with words."

"Under the right conditions I sure as fuck do." She licked her lips and pulled him a little closer. "I'm not gonna lie, babe. I'm scared. I don't think he's gonna send me back, because then he loses his chance at SAMCRO—but if he gives my file to the DA I'm fucked."

"Roosevelt doesn't think he'll do that."

"I kind of don't either, but I can't stop thinking about it."

"Try not to worry, Liv. I know that sound stupid, but try. Jax said he'd call Ally Lowen, and we've got a plan to keep Toric occupied until your forty-eight hours run out."

"Occupied? What're you gonna do? Slash his tires?"

His brow quirked in appreciation. "That's what Happy said." He filled her in on Tig's idea and how they were going to run it, and by the time he was done she wore a thoughtful look.

"That's actually kind of a good plan. I mean, it could work. You think Clay will go for it?"

"He told Jax he wasn't gonna sell out the club. Jax didn't believe him, not really, but I…"

She smiled a little and touched his cheek. "You still have faith in him."

"I know he did a lot of shitty things, Liv," he said in a rush. "I'm not trying to excuse any of them, least of all the home invasions. But I think—near the end I think he realized how bad he'd fucked up. I don't think he'll flip. I really don't."

"I don't either," she said.

He looked up, eyes wide, and she grinned. "Baby, if you believe in him that strongly then I do, too. I trust you."

"Hum," he said, a short, doubtful noise. He wondered if he'd ever have as much faith in himself as she seemed to have in him. Somehow he didn't think so.

She sighed a little. "I've got another twenty-four hours here, more or less."

"What will you do when you get out?" he said.

"What do you mean?"

He hesitated. His eyes fell to their linked hands. "Seems like the heat's been turned up around here."

"If you're asking if I'm going to run, you might as well just say it."

He met her stormy gaze and his face was still and calm. "I just wanna know if I should start packing."

Her mouth fell open. He thumbed away a tear before it could fall. "I told you, Liv. It's you and me. You wanna go, I'm with you."

After a moment she shook her head. "Not yet. Not until I know Tara and the boys are safe. It matters."

"I know it does." He bent low enough to kiss her fingers, and when he straightened again his eyes were bright. "You're mine, Olivia," he said.

She laughed, a soft, surprised ripple. "That's good, Ortiz, because Lord knows you're mine. Anything less would be fucking embarrassing."

* * *

_I've chosen to leave out Erin-the-girl-from-Diosa's death for several reasons. 1) see my previous monologue about violence against women; and 2) it was a red herring that went nowhere and bugged the bejeezus outta me. Of course, Toric's entire storyline was a red herring, but that's another subject._

_Also, Juice's recounting of their day really boggles my mind. ALL OF THAT LITERALLY HAPPENED IN ONE DAY WHAT EVEN IS THIS FUCKING SHOW?! Normally I would've spaced those events out a bit, but honestly a day like that is pretty much the only excuse I could come up with for it taking Juice over 18 hours to notice OLIVIA WAS GONE._


	35. Crashing Down

This chapter was a _bear_! I've been writing it since I finished chapter 34 and only just now finished it. I'm _hoping_ it'll go a bit easier from here on out, but some kind words certainly wouldn't hurt. :)

* * *

**and the next thing you know**  
**everything goes to hell**  
**like my mind when i see you in the chapel light**  
**try as i may try as i might**  
**this thing comes and takes over me**  
**like the night upon the sea**  
**like thunder crashing down from above**  
**like love; like love**  
Bob Schneider, "Slower Dear"

A few hours later Eli came in to kick Juice out. "Sorry, man. I gotta get home, and I can't let you stay."

"It's okay," Olivia said. "Go back to the clubhouse," she said to Juice. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" His face was scrunched, his voice troubled, and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Go. And tell Jax he has nothing to worry about."

He kissed her through the bars and pushed himself to his feet. He paused in front of Eli and held out a hand. The Sheriff looked down at it a moment before he shook. "Thanks, man," Juice said. "Thanks for looking out for her."

"Yeah, well. I don't like bullies."

Juice nodded and cast one last look over his shoulder. Olivia smiled at him. He smiled back, and their eyes locked and held for several moments before he turned to go.

She still sat on the floor of her cell. Eli peered down at her. "You gonna sleep on the floor?" he said.

She grimaced. "Um. Not sure I can get up, actually."

He lifted a brow.

"Quit looking at me like that and help me."

He unlocked the door and offered her both hands. Pulled her to her feet and caught her as she staggered. He helped her limp over to the bench and gently lowered her down. "Jesus, Olivia. He do this to you, too?"

"For once, no. I was knocked around pretty bad in a wreck when I was a kid." She patted her hip. "I'm all full of plates and screws. Sat on the cold floor too long and got stiff."

She shifted her weight in an attempt to get comfortable, but the hard, narrow bench wasn't doing her any favors.

"Haven't seen our friend the Marshal recently. The club's plan working?"

Eli hitched a shoulder and leaned against the bars. "I don't know yet. I got Jax in to see Clay, and I guess the rest is up to him."

"Hum," she said. "Any word from the DA?"

"Haven't heard anything. Toric's not gonna hand over that file until he's sure he can't get what he wants from you."

"What if he thinks Clay will flip? Think he might then, since he won't need me?"

"I don't know. It's a risk."

"I'd feel a lot better if it weren't a risk that involved my life."

"Yeah," he said with a grimace. "I hear you."

He stepped out of the cell and locked it behind him. "Sorry about this. I've gotta follow procedure."

"It's fine. I get it. You're doing a lot for me already. Risking your career for a suspected murderer."

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "I think some things are worth the risk." He smiled at her and tapped the bars. "I'll send one of my guys in with some food. See you in the morning."

"Thanks, Eli. And thanks for bringing Juice to see me."

He acknowledged that with a wave and disappeared out the door.

She should have asked Juice to go get her a change of clothes, she thought. Not only was she tired of wearing the same outfit for almost twenty-four hours, but also she didn't feel entirely comfortable in a skirt. She would ask whoever came by tomorrow. Gemma, maybe.

In the meantime she tried as best she could to get comfortable and waited for a deputy to bring her something to eat.

* * *

When Eli stopped by the next afternoon, Olivia was pacing back and forth across the small cell. She walked with a slight limp and she flexed and relaxed her fingers like she was testing her grip. When she saw him she stopped and smiled a little.

"Was beginning to think everybody'd forgotten about me."

His smile was grim. He unlocked the cell door and stood in the entrance with his arms crossed.

"What's that look? Did he call Atlanta after all? Are you here to take me to the fucking airport?"

He let out a long breath. "Lee Toric's dead, Olivia."

She blinked. Jerked her head once, quickly. "Come again?"

"Otto Delaney stabbed him to death this morning. Apparently someone slipped him a shiv at some point." He paused. "A few hours before Otto killed Toric, Clay Morrow demanded a meet with him as one of the conditions for his deal."

"Shit. Holy…" She staggered and would have gone down, but he rushed forward to catch her. "I'm okay," she said. "I'm fine." She didn't sound it, and he hovered close with a concerned frown.

"You think Jax ordered this?" he said.

"I can't—I've got no idea, Eli. How would he? They would monitor his conversation with Clay, wouldn't they?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, they would."

"Okay then. It seems like Clay decided to find a permanent solution to the problem."

"Word is Toric was bringin' some pretty bad shit down on Delaney. Rape and beatings."

"Who was this guy, Eli? What the fuck?"

"I don't know, but I looked up his service record and it's spotty as shit. I'm leaving straight from here to search his hotel room, but I thought I'd stop by to let you out first."

"Let me out?"

"Toric's dead. He never went to the DA about you. You're free to go."

Her brows drew together and she rested a light hand on his arm. "What about the warrant?"

"I told you yesterday, Olivia. If it just meant you going on trial, I'd have to do it. You killed the man, and murder's murder no matter how bad he deserved it."

He shifted his weight. Looked away. "But I can't send you back if there's even a chance you're right about your former father-in-law. I looked into Mick Doyle; he's one mean motherfucker."

"You got that right," she said with a rueful slant to her mouth. "I don't know how to repay you for this."

"How about don't kill anyone else?"

"Done," she said.

"That one's easy. Let's try a different one: how about you get the fuck outta this town before it kills _you_?"

"Soon. I promise, Eli." She squeezed his arm and offered a reassuring smile.

He didn't seem all that convinced, but after a moment he gave a weary nod. "Your car's still at the hospital. After what happened last time I wanted to wait until I knew for sure what was happening before I towed it."

"I'm not sure our relationship could've survived you impounding my car for a second time."

"Yeah," he said with a wry grin. "I figured. I'll get one of my deputies to drive you to St. Thomas."

She hesitated. "I'd rather call somebody from the club." She'd about had her fill of cops.

"Of course you would," he said, resigned. "Well. Lady's choice."

* * *

Juice wanted to head straight to the compound—they were still on lockdown, after all—but she insisted he take her home first. She needed a shower, something to eat, and a change of clothes, and while she could get the first two at the clubhouse, the last one would be harder to come by unless she wanted to dress like a crow eater: i.e., dress like Gemma. That wasn't really her aesthetic.

When they got inside he started toward the kitchen, but she grabbed him. "Shower first," she said as her mouth captured his. "Food later."

His hands skimmed from her hips to her ribcage. "You askin' for company?"

"I might need help scrubbing those hard-to-reach spots," she said. She ran her tongue over his lower lip. "After two nights in jail, I'll need to be thorough."

He grinned and let her lead him to the bathroom. She tossed her dress in the hamper with a grimace.

"I love that dress, and now I might never wear it again."

His brows quirked in commiseration, but when he started to take his own clothes off, she stopped him. "Let me," she murmured.

He raised his hands, only too happy to give her the lead. She pulled his shirt over his head and kissed his chest. He'd gotten the tattoos he'd talked about that night, months ago—two skulls, one black and one white, and the words "Son" and "Shine." She'd asked him what it meant, but he'd been vague. She had her own theories.

Now she ran her tongue around the curve of each skull and traced the letters. He shivered. She flicked across his nipples; lapped first one and then the other until he made a little whimper of pleasure. He had surprisingly sensitive nipples.

She unfastened his belt and pushed his pants to the floor. She caressed his thighs. Danced her fingers over his hipbones. Nipped at his collarbone with her lips. She licked up the side of his neck and swirled her tongue against a spot behind his ear.

He grasped her hips and pulled her against him. She wiggled out of her bra and panties, and it was skin against skin down the length of their bodies. He stretched out an arm to start the water, and soon steam billowed around them. They ignored it.

He cupped her face in his hands and she ran her fingers down his back and over his ass. Their lips met; first a brush, soft as a whisper, and for a moment they held there, their mouths not quite touching. She could taste his breath. He could feel the heat of her. He smoothed his tongue across her mouth and she hauled him in for a kiss. Her teeth found his lip and his tongue scraped the inside of her mouth and their quiet moans mingled.

She stepped into the tub and beckoned for him to follow her. He took a moment to appreciate the view as water poured over her body: her full breasts, the swell of her hips, the tattoo that painted her side. She struck a pose.

"Like what you see, Ortiz?" she said with a laugh. Her eyes drifted down. She lifted a brow. "Looks like it."

He climbed in beside her and closed the curtain. Her wet skin slid against his as he tugged her close for another kiss. He mouthed droplets from her face. Their eyes met and his face creased with concern.

"You okay, babe?"

She tried to shrug it off, but she couldn't fake it with him. "I was scared, Juicy. I'm still scared," she admitted. "I can't believe it was that…I don't want to say _easy_, because two people are dead, but…easy, kinda."

"You're waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"It always seems to."

"Maybe it won't this time." He kissed her slow and deep. "Maybe it'll be okay for once."

"That would be nice."

He grabbed the soap from its nook and made a lather. The smell of citrus and lavender filled the air.

"Either way," he said as he ran his slippery hands down her body, "we can worry about all that later. There are other things to think about now."

"Mmmm. Like what?"

He spread soap up her thighs. Over her hips. His fingers dipped into the crack of her buttocks and she shivered.

"All those hard-to-reach places," he murmured and lowered his head to tease her neck with his tongue.

He turned her around and pressed against her back. His cock nestled between her cheeks. She rocked her hips to feel the heated length of him slide against her. He stifled a moan and reached around to toy with her breasts. He squeezed. Massaged. His slick fingers slipped and slid over her sensitive nipples and she squirmed. He nipped the curve of her shoulder and blew a stream of air across her damp skin.

He rinsed the soap off one hand and cupped her mound. She shook her head. "No, babe," she said, her voice strained, "just fuck me. Please. Please, Juicy."

His jaw tightened. He rested his forehead on her skull and tried to get his breath back. She was always so fucking _needy_ in the aftermath of these (increasingly frequent) close calls, and it made him want to do _things_ to her—and burying himself to the hilt in her hot, sweet cunt was only the beginning.

It also made him want _her_ to do even dirtier things to _him_.

"Fuck, Livvie," he croaked.

"That's what I had in mind, baby," she said with a smirk.

His fingers found her clit and she jerked into him. He panted. He splashed some water across his throbbing cock to wash the soap off and rubbed the tip up and down her slit.

"Yeah, Juicy," she whimpered. "Please!"

He had no patience for teasing. He'd been scared too—still was—and right now he needed her as much as she needed him. He thrust into her, long and slow and just rough enough to make her catch her breath.

"Fuck," she murmured. "Fuck that's good."

He braced one hand against the tiled wall while the other stayed between her legs. Warm water rained down on them like a thousand tiny caresses. His hips jerked and she moaned his name. Begged him for more. He leaned closer to press his lips to her shoulder. She squeezed him deep inside, and that was all the prompting he needed.

He brushed his mouth against her neck and rocked in hard, rhythmic thrusts. She was hot and tight and so, so wet. He rasped her name and babbled endearments into the curve of her shoulder. Her breath came in sharp, desperate pants; she pressed her hand to his and guided his fingers against her clit.

His movements became rougher, more erratic, and her moans and pleas urged him on.

"I love you, Liv," he said. "Love you so goddamn much. Can't get enough of you."

She let out a breathless, stuttering laugh. "I love you too, Juicy. Don't stop, baby. You feel so good!"

"Yeah, oh God, yeah—shit—Liv, baby—fuck, I—!"

"Not yet. Not yet!"

He gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into the tile. She ground her hips against him and he felt her muscles go tense.

"Now!" she gasped. "Come with me, love!"

He closed his eyes and let the orgasm take him. He felt the heated clench of her and soaked in the sound of her lust-wrecked moans. They moved in sync, riding out the waves together, and as it passed he wrapped an arm around her to keep her upright.

Her head fell back against his shoulder and she was laughing. He kissed her nose with a grin. She gave him one last, shiver-inducing squeeze before he slipped out of her.

She reached up to run her fingers along his jaw. "I love you," she said, quiet and sincere.

"I know," he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

"Okay, Han," she said and elbowed him in the gut.

He let out an _oomph_ as he laughed. "C'mon, Your Worship. I'll help you wash your hair so you can put it up in cinnamon buns."

"Fuck you, Ortiz," she said, grinning.

"Not just yet, babe. Gotta gimme a sec to recover."

* * *

Later he lay in bed, drowsy and content, and watched her as she braided her still-damp hair. She ran a comb through it section by section before she divided it down her back. She caught his eye in the mirror and looked over her shoulder with a smile.

"What? You're staring."

"You've got mermaid hair," he said.

"Hence that." She pointed to a framed poster on the wall: a mermaid sat on the shore combing out her long reddish hair.

"Yep. She looks kinda like you. Your boobs are bigger, though."

She chuckled. "Plus, I mean. Legs."

"Eh," he said and tilted his head in a shrug. "Minor details."

Her mouth curved and she turned back toward the mirror.

"That's what your next tattoo should be. A mermaid."

"Hhmm, I don't know. I was thinking I'd get my right arm done like the left one. To cover up the surgery scar."

"That'd be—" His phone rang, interrupting him, and he answered it with a frown.

She finished with her hair. Sat still and quiet as she listened to his end. They had ignored the lockdown as long as they could, she guessed. She sighed and got up to get dressed.

He hung up and tossed the phone on the nightstand. "That was Chibs. We should head in. There's church tonight, full table, and Jax is still freakin' out about the Irish."

"They probably need you for club business, don't they?" she said from inside the closet.

"Not really." He raised his voice so she could hear him and gathered his clothes. "Sounds like everybody's at the clubhouse or headed there."

"Okay," she said. "Drop me by St. Thomas for my car and you can meet them."

"I'd rather make sure you got there in one piece."

She sighed a little and tugged on a pair of jeans. "Fine. You can follow me in. Better?"

"Reasonable," he said and planted a kiss on her full mouth.

* * *

Her car was right where she'd left it two days ago. She was surprised the hospital hadn't had it towed, but she wasn't going to question the minor bit of good fortune. She waved to him and climbed in, and he fell in behind her as she drove past.

The TM lot was packed, but she managed to squeeze the Cougar in next to Tara. Juice parked his bike in its usual spot. A quick count showed that everyone was here already. It was just past seven, and Chibs had said church was at eight. Juice shrugged at her questioning look.

"I guess everyone wanted to be here early."

"I should go check the garage," she said with an anxious look that way.

"One drink first," he said. "Everybody wants to see you. After that we'll go over there together."

She cut him a look. "What? In case I faint or something?"

He glanced away with a little frown. "I just don't…I guess I'm afraid to let you outta my sight right now." His chin tilted toward her. "Creepy, huh?"

"A little. But you're cute enough I'll let you get away with it."

"I knew my good looks would come in handy one day."

She rolled her eyes and leaned into him as he rested his hand on the small of her back. They made their way through the crowded clubhouse slowly; everyone had a greeting or word for one or both of them; and by the time they got to the bar she was feeling jumpy.

"Ollie!" Chucky said when he saw them. "You're back!"

"I am indeed. Jail's no place for a girl like me." Her forehead creased and she pressed his arm. "I'm so sorry about Otto," she said, gently.

He frowned down at the bar, surprised she would mention it. "He went through some bad stuff at the end. I think he's probably better off, really."

"You might be right. But he was your friend and it always sucks."

He nodded a little and sniffled. Then he looked up with an excited grin. "I got some of that Wild Turkey you like."

She recognized a desperately-needed change of subject when she saw one, so she returned his smile with one her own. "The Rare Breed?"

"That's it."

"Hit me." She held her fingers apart just a smidge. "Water."

"Strong," Juice remarked. The Rare Breed was undiluted, high proof, and it wasn't really designed to be drunk straight. She normally liked her drinks a little weaker than she'd indicated to Chucky.

"It's that kinda day," she said with a wry twist to her mouth.

"Make it two," Juice said. "And a beer."

He puttered off to get their drinks and she turned around to prop her back against the bar. She rested her elbows on the edge and crossed her ankles. "Any idea how long this lockdown's supposed to last?" she said.

She never had warmed up to the idea, but at least she didn't flip out like she had that first time. "Not sure," he said. "The Irish are hard to pin down."

"Hum," she said, a low noise of agreement. "Oh, there's Tara." She grabbed the glass Chucky left for her and started away. "Gimme a sec, yeah?"

"No problem," Juice said, but the crowd had already swallowed her and his voice was drowned out by all the noise.

"Ah, Juicy boy!" Chibs said as he came up beside him. He clapped him on the back and they shared a brief hug. "How's our girl?" he said.

Chibs nodded across the room toward Olivia and Tara. The two women were locked in what looked like an intense conversation, but abruptly Olivia threw her head back and laughed. Thomas joined in, delighted, and Olivia tickled his tummy. Tara couldn't resist the sound of her son's giggles, and soon all three of them were cackling.

"Looks okay, I guess," Juice said with half a grin.

"Aye, well." Chibs took a pull off his beer and grimaced. "She always _looks_ okay. How is she _really_?"

Juice frowned and turned back to the bar. He sipped his bourbon and played with a peanut. Chibs hunched next to him.

"She's pretty spooked," Juice finally said. "This was a real close call. If Otto hadn't—" He broke off and hitched a shoulder. "She never would've ratted."

"I know it, lad. We all do."

He ducked his head, and when he looked up again his eyes were steady and challenging. "All of us? Even Jax? He seemed pretty unsure yesterday."

"Don't mind Jackie. You know how he gets sometimes. Things're weird right now, and that Marshal was gettin' too close for comfort. It should all settle soon."

"I'm not sure," Juice said. "Roosevelt told Olivia that Toric was authorized by the DA. She wants to find someone to blame for that school shooting, and I guess she thinks we're as good a target as any."

"Aye, that's what we've been hearin'," he said, grimly. "She tried to come after Nero and Diosa, but he's clean. You think she'll try Ollie next?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Toric didn't give her Olivia's file, and Roosevelt says he won't—Olivia trusts him, so I guess I do too—so maybe she's safe from that for now."

Chibs made a quiet, thoughtful noise, but whatever he might have said was lost as Jax joined them.

"Juice," he said and hugged him. "Good to see you, brother. We missed you today."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I had to—"

"Don't worry about it," Jax said. "You had to take care of Ollie. It's fine." He paused and his expression turned wary. "Has she seen the garage yet?"

"We were gonna head over there before church. Is it…is it bad?"

"We got it cleaned up," Chibs said. "But they trashed one of the tool chests completely; it's dented all to shite. Plus they broke one of the air compressors. She's not gonna be happy."

"Great," Juice said with a scowl.

Jax opened his mouth, but something on the bar caught his eye. He picked it up and stared for a moment. "This your pen?" he asked nobody in particular.

It was a white plastic click pen decorated with green shamrocks; Juice couldn't see anything special about it, especially not enough to warrant Jax' sudden tension.

"Haven't seen it before," Chucky said. "I guess the delivery guy left it."

"Delivery guy?" Chibs said. "What delivery guy?"

Chucky nodded toward an untapped keg. "He brought that. I figured Gemma ordered it because we were almost out."

Jax and Chibs exchanged alarmed glances. "Did you ask her?" Jax said.

"No. I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Holy fuck," Chibs said.

"What's the matter?" Juice said.

Jax spun around. "Get out!" he screamed. "Everybody out _now_!"

Chibs steered two crow eaters toward the door and shouted back over his shoulder at Juice: "Get the fuck out, lad!"

Olivia was still on the other side of the room, and in the panic and press he couldn't get to her. He couldn't even _see_ her through the crowd because of her height. He didn't want to leave until he knew she was safe, but Happy grabbed him on his way out.

"Let go! I gotta get Olivia!"

"Tig's got her and Tara," Happy said. "Juicy, come on!"

Juice let out a frustrated curse and tucked the nearest kid under one arm and wrapped the other around the kid's mom. They made it out to the parking lot and halfway across when the clubhouse blew. Juice shielded the kid with his body as best he could as the blast knocked them off their feet. He hit the ground hard and gasped in singed, ashy air.

He sat up after several long, breathless seconds. Shook his head to try to clear it and ran a trembling hand back and forth across his scalp. "You guys okay?" he said to the crow eater.

She managed a frightened nod. He mussed the kid's hair, rose shakily to his feet, and set off to find Olivia among the chaos.

* * *

_She's **really** gonna be pissed about the garage now. :/_


	36. Nemesis

Woops. Don't mind me. Just popping in to add an author's note so the formatting looks right.

How is everyone today? Good, good. Glad to hear it. Happy reading!

* * *

**i'm the babe that sleeps through the blitz**  
**i am a sudden and quite unexpected twist**  
**i am your one true love who sleeps with someone else**  
**i am your nemesis**  
**baby, i'm life sweet life itself**  
David Gray, "Nemesis"

"Goddamn it mother fuck!"

The sound of metal crashing against metal echoed from inside the garage, and Juice hesitated. This building had been spared the worst of the blast, but there was still some damage, plus what the Aryans had done. From the sound of it, Olivia wasn't exactly pleased with the state of things.

He took a deep breath and poked his head around the empty doorframe (they had found the door five feet across the lot; luckily it hadn't hit anybody). "Um, hi," he said.

She looked up from the tools she was banging around and her scowl eased into a brief smile. "Hey. How's the clubhouse?"

"Trashed," he said and shrugged. He stuck his gloves hands in his pockets and ambled closer. "At this point we're not real sure what we can save."

It was the answer she'd expected, but still she winced. Then: "Did Jax talk to Galen?"

"Yeah." A hard sigh. "He says Clay has to stay alive and be their rep here. They want him to handle all of our old customers. No cut for us, money-wise, and if we don't go along they'll hit the other charters, too."

She frowned and tossed another wrench aside. "How's that going to be possible? Clay's in jail."

"I don't know. He wouldn't say."

"These Irish. They're pretty fucked up."

"No shit," he said. "This is the third fucking time they've tried to blow us up: that car bomb that got Chibs, the shit in Ireland, and now this."

She let out a long breath and rubbed her forehead. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her closer. Pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

"You okay?" he murmured into her hair.

"Yeah," she said with a strained laugh. "I'm great." She closed her eyes and he rubbed her arms. "To be honest, Juicy, I'm scared by how…unaffected by this I am. I mean, yeah, I'm fucking pissed at all the damage, but nobody got hurt and—"

Another laugh, dark and humorless. "Do you know what my first thought was when I got my breath back?"

"Hhmm?"

"_I just washed my hair and now I'm gonna have to do it again_. Not _fuck I hope no one's hurt_ or _oh God where's Juice?_ No. My first thought was about my fucking _hair_."

"That's kinda funny," he said.

"No it's not! It's awful!"

He grinned and tilted her chin up. "That's not what I meant. I just mean—my first thought the night that branch broke was _at least I didn't piss myself_."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, and after a moment her lips twitched. "Ortiz—"

"All I'm saying is your mind does weird things when you're in shock like that. It's like all that stupid, every day shit becomes the most critical or something. Doesn't make you a bad person. It's just the way it works."

She took his face in her hands and kissed him firmly on the mouth. When she pulled away there was a line between her brows and tension in her jaw.

"What's wrong?" he said. "Besides the obvious, I mean."

She gave a restless shrug and moved away. "I'm—I'm just tired, I guess. I didn't sleep much last night."

"Nightmares again?" Strangely he'd slept like a rock, and if she'd tossed and turned he hadn't noticed.

"No. It never got that far. More just…thinking too hard."

"Um." He cleared his throat. "About what?"

She propped against the workbench and crossed her arms around her middle. "You remember the other day when you asked me why I love you?"

"Of course," he said with a frown. "Why?"

She scraped the toe of her boot through some broken glass on the floor and wouldn't look at him. "I need to ask you the same thing, Juice. And don't tell me it doesn't matter! I know that's what I said to you, but—" She broke off and bit her lip. "I need an answer. A real one."

His forehead creased and he shoved his hands in his pockets again. "Liv, what—?"

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "We've been through a lot of shit in a short time, Juice. I mean, I know that there was a lot…between us…before—but we've been together, like actually together, what? Six months? And it's been incredibly intense. Not just us, I mean, but _everything_. There hasn't been a moment to _breathe_ since—I don't know. Since you guys got out of jail. So I'm just—I just—I guess I'm worried that maybe you love me because life is insane right now and I'm…a sort of port in the storm, maybe."

His mouth went tight and the muscles in his jaw danced. "That's kind of insulting, Olivia."

She looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant," he said, roughly. "Do you have any idea how long I've loved you? It hasn't been for six months or eight or even a year. You told me to stay away from you the night of the first lockdown, remember? It was about two weeks later, and we had barely spoken. I hadn't even really seen you.

"Then one morning I walked into the garage for my shift. I didn't know you were there, and suddenly you just popped out from underneath this car. You had dirt on your cheek." He tapped the spot on his own face. "You didn't notice me, and for a second you just looked so—I don't know, Liv. Happy. Like everything was exactly the way you wanted it."

He shook his head. "I turned around and walked out before you saw me and I told myself I wouldn't ever try to get close to you again. I knew it sure as fuck wasn't me who put that look on your face, and I figured it never would be. It's why I stopped you that day in the bathroom. God, Liv, I wanted you so fucking bad it _hurt_. People say that, you know? But until I met you I didn't know what it meant."

"Juice—"

"Let me finish!" He closed his eyes. Opened them again. They were bright with unshed tears and his voice was thick. "You wanna know why I love you. Okay. Let's start with the night we met: you pulled a knife on a guy twice your size because he called me a spic. One time you broke a guy's nose because he was picking on a fifteen-year-old girl. You were ready to give up your entire life here to keep me and my club safe."

She snorted. "Some people might call that _reckless_."

"Some people don't know you like I do. Yeah, you've got a temper, and sometimes it gets you in trouble, but you're also the most careful person I've ever met. You don't fuck around and you don't take people's shit. You believe in me like nobody in my life ever has before, and you make me"—he choked and tried again—"you make me want to be the man you see when you look at me.

"So let me ask _you_, again, why do you love _me_? Because if all those things you said before are true, if maybe _I'm_ just in this because life's shit and this isn't, then why are _you_ in it? Because you're worth like ten of me, Olivia, and I just can't figure it out."

Her eyes were hot and hard as they raked over his face. "First of all, that last bit isn't true. You're special, Juice. You're—it's like all of your rough bits match up to my rough bits and somehow it just sort of…flows. You're kind and you're forgiving and you always think the best of people."

"I'm fucking naïve, you mean," he said derisively.

"If I'd meant naïve I would've fucking said it! Here's the thing: I'm a cynical bitch, and you help me see things in a better light. You're a sweet guy who gets pushed around, and I help you stand a little straighter. I love you because you're what I wish I _could_ be. I want to believe in people and the world the way you do. I want to be optimistic again."

"You're not as hard as you pretend to be," he grumbled.

"Right. Because I _pretend_ to be the way I was before I met you. I pretend to be the woman who'd drop everything and run at the slightest twitch. I pretend like I don't really care, like none of this touches me, but between falling for you and what happened to Ope—" She broke off, but she didn't have to finish the sentence. He knew. He always did, with her, which was also part of why she loved him: he _got_ her, without a lot of fanfare or explanation, and though she'd certainly changed over the course of their acquaintance, he'd never once _asked_ her to. He accepted her, ice queen held together by duct tape and safety pins, and he loved her in spite of it all.

She kicked at a bit of debris and sent it skittering across the concrete. "I'm sorry. It was a stupid question."

"No," he said, "it wasn't." There was a weariness to his tone that made her look up. He smiled a little. Stepped closer and lowered his voice so he wouldn't be overheard. "I want to leave this place with you, Olivia. I want to get out of this life. I want us to make a _new_ life, together. If you think you can't be with me or I can't be with you without getting attacked or blown up every week or so, then tell me now so I can make new plans."

"No," she said on a breath. "Baby, no. Last night just—it spooked me. Not because we all could've died, though of course there's that—there were _kids_ in there, for fuck's sake—but more because I was so blasé about the whole fucking thing. 'Eh, another day, another bomb, whoop dee fuck.' That shouldn't be anyone's reaction to almost getting blown up!"

"I know, babe. Believe me, I get it. It's like you kind of have to—I don't know—_choose_ what to let rattle you. A bomb that blew up the clubhouse but didn't hurt anyone? Seems weirdly minor when you compare it to the other shit."

He remembered Phil and Vi-Lin's severed hands displayed on their cuts and shuddered. She still didn't know that detail.

She stepped closer and rested her hands on his hips. Her head fell forward against his chest. "Our lives are so fucked up, Ortiz."

He ran a hand over her hair and dropped a kiss on her bent head. "I'm not gonna argue." He sighed and she lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "Look, Liv, I know I'm a fuck up—"

She made a noise of protest, but he stopped her with a gesture.

"It's okay. I know I am. I know I don't give you a lot of reasons to have faith in me, but please don't ever doubt how I feel about you. You're it for me, Gable. Believe it."

"You're not a fuck up, Juice. You're human. You give me reasons to have faith in you every day. We've both made a lot of mistakes, and we're both bruised and battered and all sorts of creaky. But, you know, at the end of the day there's nobody I'd rather have in my corner than you."

A slow smile unfurled across his face. "You mean it?"

"I don't say things I don't mean."

He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. She laughed a little as he bent his head and captured her mouth with his. The kiss was slow and sweet, all soft lips and velvet tongues, and as it stretched and deepened, the always-present spark between them was stoked higher and hotter.

She pulled away, panting a little, and managed a smirk. "As much as I like the way you think, I'm not sure this is the place. There's not even a door."

He made a low sound of disappointment and kissed her again. "I guess you're right," he said. He stepped back with a rueful smile. "I came in here to check on you, but also to tell you we're headin' up to Three Points today. After the attack Jax called a bunch of the charters together for a big meet. Not really sure when we'll be back, but probably late."

"Yeah, okay," she said. "Are they waiting for you now?"

"Uh. I think Jax was waiting to find out how Tara's ultrasound went before we left."

She choked and coughed. Clapped her hand to her chest and cleared her throat. "Tara's—right. The ultrasound. To make sure everything's okay. After last night."

"Are you—?"

"I'm fine," she said and waved a hand. "Just inhaled some ash or something."

There was a knock on the doorframe and Rat peeked in. She'd never been so happy to see him in her life.

"Hey, yo," she said. "What's up?"

"Came to grab Juice," he said. "Jax is ready to leave."

"Great. Thanks, man." He pulled Olivia close for a quick kiss. He smiled. "Try not to worry too much, Liv. It's all gonna work out."

"And that's why I love you, Ortiz," she murmured.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned. He turned away and nodded at Rat as he went past.

"Oh, Ollie," Rat said, "I almost forgot." He held up an envelope. "You got mail. Like, actual mail. From the post office."

She laughed and took it from him. "It does still happen sometimes, Rat." She glanced down at the envelope and her face went still. Color flared across her cheeks.

"Somethin' wrong?" he said.

Juice looked back at his concerned tone and took note of her expression.

She glanced up at them with a quick shake of her head. "Nah. It's just junk mail. I've probably been pre-approved for a credit card or they're inviting me to join the AARP again."

"Little young for that, ain't you?" said Rat.

"You'd think," she replied with a grin. "I, um. I'm just gonna go put this through the shredder. Can't be too careful!"

"That was weird," Rat said as she disappeared into the office.

"She just, uh. She really hates junk mail," Juice said, his voice vague and tense. Everyone hated junk mail, but people didn't usually look at it like she had. And then, when Rat asked her about it, she'd transformed into old Olivia—brand new to Charming and coated with Teflon Olivia—in a snap.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for several wild, frantic heartbeats. She rubbed her chest with her knuckles and gulped in air. She was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, and if she didn't relax she was going to melt down right here. The postmark said Dallas, Texas, and the date was three days ago: the day Toric arrested her at St. Thomas.

With shaking hands, she ripped the envelope open. A colorful card fluttered to the floor. Dizziness hit her in a sudden, dislocating wave when she saw what it was. She didn't bother trying to catch herself as she slid bonelessly down and stared in dull horror.

It was a postcard. On one side was a picture of the Atlanta skyline. A peach in the lower right corner welcomed her to Georgia. She flipped the card over.

_Missing you. xoxo_

That was all it said.

It was enough. She pressed a hand to her mouth and fought the overwhelming urge to vomit.

* * *

As he'd predicted, Juice didn't get in till late. He tumbled into bed next to her, oddly wired and hyped up, and the feel of his mouth on her skin woke her. He was fervent and hurried, rough and impatient, and she responded in kind. They made love ardently, almost violently, and when it was over the sweat on their bodies hadn't even dried before he pulled her to him again.

When she opened her eyes the next morning he was gone. She grabbed her t-shirt off the floor and tugged it on. Her jeans from yesterday were thrown over the chair; she could see a bit of paper sticking out of the back pocket. She sat in front of the vanity and scowled at the postcard a long time.

She knew Juice would want her to tell him about this. It was part of their pact. But she had a feeling something must have happened yesterday, something that had put him in such an edgy mood last night, and she wasn't sure she wanted to worry him. She didn't try to fool herself by brushing off the warning the card represented: Teddy knew where she was, and he'd be coming for her soon. He liked to toy with his prey before he pounced, so she expected several more notes like this one until, one day, he (or his guys) showed up at her door.

"Well," she murmured. She brushed a wayward tear off her cheek and stashed the postcard in the back of her vanity drawer. Juice had no reason to look in there, and she figured he'd never find it.

When she got to TM it was a full house. Everyone was working on cleaning out the clubhouse, and the place was a scene of organized chaos. For a moment her attention was caught by a flatbed tow truck with a partially disassembled bike strapped to it. Juice's bike, by the look of things. What the fuck?

She joined Chibs and Tig outside the garage and hitched her thumb back over her shoulder. "What happened there?"

"Juicy didn't tell you?" Tig said, surprised.

"Guess not."

He and Chibs exchanged a look, and Tig stubbed out his smoke and ambled away. She watched him go with a curious frown.

"Was it something I said?"

"We're all a little worried about Juice, lass," Chibs said. "He stole a cop's bike yesterday and wrecked it."

"What?" she said. Her tone was flat and disbelieving. He had promised her no more reckless stunts, but apparently the message hadn't gotten through.

"We were pulled over by some cops in Eden. Juice got mouthy, so they handcuffed him to his bike and shot out the tires."

"You're kidding. That doesn't seem like very cop-like behavior."

He shrugged. "Aye, they were dirty as all fuck. We tracked Juice's bike back to a chop shop. He picked out a new one, but we thought we'd bring the old one back as a little present for you. A sort of, ah, apology for the shop bein' in such dire straights."

He decided not to mention Juice's stunt with jumping from a speeding bike into Rat's van. He wasn't sure how she would take it, and it wasn't his job to rat the boy out.

"He want it back?" she said, meaning his old one.

"Don't know. You'd have to ask him."

And she would as soon as she had a chance. She didn't want to give him a hard time, but he worried her. Did he have some sort of death wish? Chibs' news decided her: she definitely wouldn't tell him about the postcard. She didn't want to add to whatever storm was raging inside his head.

Just then four more bikes rumbled into the lot: one of them was Bobby, but she didn't recognize the other three.

"Bobby's back?" she said.

"Aye. Brought new patch-ins from some other charters, too. Tryin' to rebuild our ranks."

She lifted a brow. "Better than the last group, I hope."

He chuckled. "Bobby was very particular with his screening process."

She acknowledged that with a wry grin and lifted an arm to greet Bobby as he walked toward them. He swooped her up in a bear hug that made her ribs creak and left her breathless.

"How you been, Ollie? Long fuckin' time."

"Too long, but I'm glad you're home now." She patted her hip. "Got shot. Blown up. Garage was trashed. You know, same ol'."

He laughed and clapped her on the back. "Chibs tell you about our new patch-ins?"

"Yup. Hi, guys."

"This's West, Montez, and Quinn. Boys, this is Ollie. She's J—uh. A mechanic here in the shop."

Her mouth quirked. "He was about to say _Juice's old lady_, and I'm that, too. Welcome to Charming."

They greeted her politely, if a little warily. She could tell they didn't know what to make of her: an old lady, but apparently also a mechanic—and introduced that way. She acknowledged their confusion with a sardonic grin that brought out the dimple in her chin.

Chibs poked her in the arm. "I think Jackie boy wanted to talk to you. Somethin' about the clubhouse."

"What about it? He think I'm a contractor now?"

"Doubt it, but you should ask him. He's inside."

She started toward the garage, but Chibs turned her around. "Inside _there_."

"Oh good. Too fucking bad I left my hardhat at home."

Chibs snorted. "C'mon, lass. I'll walk with you. Knock you out of the way if anything so much as tries to ruffle that pretty red hair of yours."

"And they say chivalry is dead." She waved at Bobby and the new guys over her shoulder and let Chibs lead her toward the burned-out shell of the clubhouse.

* * *

They found Jax standing over the charred husk of his father's bike. They paused and Chibs cleared his throat. Jax' head jerked up, and for a moment his expression was like a wound, ripped and bleeding. Then his face smoothed and he found part of a smile.

Olivia hooked her thumbs in her back pockets and took a tentative step towards him. "You gonna put it back together again?"

"Yeah. If I can find the time."

She knew he and Opie had restored it years ago, and the bike was more than just a bike to Jax. It was a symbol—not only of his father, but of his bond with Ope. They were both gone, and now the bike was a wreck again. Her eyes flicked away a moment. She wasn't sure how he would react to what she wanted to say next.

Finally she looked back at him. "If you need any help, let me know. Opie told me—" She broke off and her smile became strained.

Jax nodded his understanding. She didn't have to finish the thought. He knew she and Opie had been close, like he'd said to her at the wake. He'd been in jail and even when he wasn't there'd been too many ghosts between them near the end: Donna and Clay and Piney. The fuckin' gavel and every bit of shit that came with it.

He accepted her offer for what it was: not an attempt to usurp Opie's memory or the times they'd had together, but rather a gesture of solidarity. Jax was an indifferent mechanic at best. Opie had been the talent there. They both knew it.

"Thanks," he said. "I'd like to see how far I can get on my own, but…I know who to call if it gets rough."

She tilted her head in brief recognition. Then: "So I guess this isn't what you wanted to talk to me about."

He gestured for them to follow him. "Come on in here. Watch out for that shit; it's still kinda hot."

She dodged the pile of debris and grimaced. "They sure know their business, don't they?"

Behind her Chibs let out a huff. "I think it's a point of pride with those Irish lads. We're lucky it didn't do more damage to the garage."

"They weren't trying to do property damage," Jax said, grimly. "They were tryin' to kill. We're lucky they got arrogant with that fucking pen or we'd probably all be dead now—including Tara and my boys."

They were in what had been the chapel by now. Rat and Happy were there, gloved and wearing hoodies zipped to their chins. They'd been clearing rubble and it was heaped around them like a scene from a shitty disaster movie.

Jax nodded toward what they'd uncovered and Olivia peered at it. "Oh," she said. It was the table. Charred and blackened, but still recognizable. It was hard to burn a slab of redwood like that.

"We've got a new place in town," Jax said. "We're takin' the table, of course, and whatever else is salvageable around here. You think you can put any of this shit back together?"

A quick glance told her _no_, but she was sure that wasn't true. "Grab what you want to keep and I'll see what I can do. I'll need a space to work, though. The garage is—" She lifted a hand in a shrug and Jax nodded in commiseration.

"You can set up at the ice cream shop. There's a big back room that should work."

"Ice cream shop?" She laughed a little at the incongruity. "Sure. Sounds good." She jerked her chin toward the table. "You want me to see about refinishing it?"

"No," he said with a definitive shake of his head. "We're gonna leave it like that. To remember."

"Good," she said with a brief smile. "If you'd said yes I was going to try to talk you out of it."

"No need, Ollie girl," Chibs said. "The Sons don't break, and we sure as shite don't forget. Galen O'Shay needs to remember who he's fucking with."

Her brows lifted, but she didn't ask him to elaborate. She was, after all, just an old lady, and it wasn't any of her goddamn business.

* * *

_You'd think she would've learned by now not to keep secrets. Some people._

_Also I haven't 100% decided how the next several events are going to fall out, so. Let's hope it all comes together. :)_


	37. Changing My Mind

The song in the quote today is absolutely a breakup song, so I've been hesitant to use it up to this point (despite how much I love it), but I think it works here. All things considered.

* * *

**what's so funny is i'm scared and lonely**  
**and i don't think that i'm the only one as i watch you drive away**  
**and what's so funny is the birds are singing  
the sun is shining and the bells are ringing **  
**and i'm thinking, "what happened here?"**  
Bob Schneider, "Changing My Mind"

When Juice got home that night the TV was on, but Olivia was nowhere to be seen. He called her name but there was no answer. He turned the TV off, went back to the porch for his gun, and worked his way through the house.

He found her in the bedroom asleep with all the lights on. He set the safety on his weapon and put it on the dresser. It looked like she'd fallen asleep in the middle of changing clothes, because her soot-smudged jeans and t-shirt were strewn across the floor, but she still wore her bra and underwear.

He crawled in bed behind her and as he pressed close she stirred. She made a sleepy little noise and rubbed her eyes.

"Bright," she said.

"You fell asleep with the lights on. TV, too." He kissed her temple. Her hair smelled like burning things, ash and coal. He mouthed down the side of her face to her neck.

"Mmmm," she murmured. Then she went stiff and twisted toward him. "I did?"

He chuckled. "Yup. Long day, I guess?"

They'd both been helping set up the new clubhouse space in the old Scoops 'n' Sweets building in downtown Charming. He hadn't really seen much of her, though: she'd been in the back room putting a workshop together, including the addition of a blowtorch. He usually steered clear when she started soldering things.

"Uh huh," she said. She'd come home exhausted, so tired her eyes had been crossing during the drive. She remembered turning on the TV (thought now she couldn't've said why), but everything after that was kinda blurry. Well. She had been through a lot in the past several weeks…and she wasn't sleeping well.…

"I fixed the rip in that one sign," she said and waved a hand. "The one from the clubhouse. Tomorrow I'm gonna start on the big Reaper from the chapel. Oh, _and_—"

Something about her tone made him want to squirm.

"At some point I'll see what I can do about your _bike_."

"Ah. Huh. Yeah…"

She flipped onto her back and frowned up at him. "Why didn't you tell me what happened? I had to hear it from Chibs."

"I didn't want you to worry. It wasn't a big deal, and we knew the cops were dirty as hell."

"You _hoped_ the cops were dirty. What if they'd been legit? You would've violated the fuck out of your parole and you'd be doing the rest of those seven years."

She winced and pressed a hand to her forehead. "God, I'm sorry. I just heard what I sound like."

"Hey, no, don't be sorry. You're right. I just…sometimes I feel like everyone in the club is looking at me. Like they all know and just aren't sayin' anything. Even if they _don't_ know, it's still like I'm the fucking loser who can't get his shit together."

He hitched a shoulder. His chin fell to his chest. "Jax told me I don't have anything to prove, but I can't stop thinkin' that I do. That no matter what I do or what choices I make, it's all gonna be wrong."

She rested her fingers against his cheek. Eventually he raised his head to look at her. "If you get yourself killed with one these stupid, reckless stunts, I will personally drag you back from the dead and kick your ass. Yeah?"

His mouth twisted. "Yeah, Liv. I hear you."

"Good." She paused. Ran a hand over his scalp, palm against his skin, thumb brushing his mohawk. "You _don't_ have anything to prove, babe. You've done everything Jax has asked and more. You took that beating from Chibs. The only person who doubts you now is you."

He nodded and struggled to find a smile. His eyes were bright. "The problem is everything Jax has had me do just makes it worse. It might square me with him and the club, but it…fucks up my head. I don't know how to get right with any of it."

"I don't either, baby," she admitted with a rueful quirk to her lips. "I don't know if it helps any, but I know all of it—assuming you haven't left anything out—and it hasn't changed how I feel about you. You're a good person who's done bad things. I'm a bad person who's done…I don't know. Very questionable things. I think we sorta even each other out."

He stared at her, aghast. "You're not a bad person, Olivia, how can—"

"I think I was. Until I met you." She rolled her eyes. "That sounds so sappy. I just mean—from the time I killed TJ and hit the road, the only person I really ever gave a fuck about was me. I'd sell you my best friend if you paid the right price, but honestly even that's pretty hollow since I didn't have any friends."

She raised an arm above her head to work out the kinks, and he watched in fascination as her body moved and stretched. She poked him. "Hey. Gutter brain. I'm trying to talk here."

"I'm listening," he muttered, but his eyes were trained on her boobs. Her bra was simple white cotton, the kind she usually wore to work, but this one must be lower cut or something, because her breasts spilled over the cups in a way he hadn't seen before.

"Right," she said with a wry grin. "Anyway, all I'm saying is since I met you I care about something else. Not just you, but also the people here. This house. The town, I guess. I mean, I want to leave, but…"

"Part of you wants to stay."

"Yeah. Is that fucked up?"

"No. Charming's one of the only real homes I've ever had. Part of me wants to stay, too." He tugged at her bra strap. "Take this off," he said, urgently.

She swatted his hand away. "Juicy! Focus!"

"I am focused. I promise."

He dipped his head and traced his tongue along the cup's edge, over the white swell of her breast. She made a soft noise and skimmed her fingers around the curve of his skull. He cut his eyes up at her and grinned. She stuck her tongue out at him.

His smile deepened to crinkle the corner of his eyes. He crossed his arms over her stomach and rested his chin on them. His expression was guileless.

"You're real fuckin' lucky you're cute, Ortiz."

He laughed and moved up her body. "Gonna make that my personal motto," he said and kissed her. "_Damn lucky I'm cute_."

She laughed. "Incorrigible, that's what you are."

"Mmhhmm. Whatever you say, baby," he murmured as their mouths met again. Her lips were warm and sweet and full against his. He nipped the upper one with his lips. Sucked the lower one into his mouth. Her tongue brushed against his and she pressed a hand to his chest. He looked down in confusion.

"You're gonna have to move if you want me to get my bra off," she said.

He smirked and sat back. "Now who's the incorrigible one?"

"You lead me into temptation, Ortiz. I was a perfectly nice girl before I met you. Now it's all kitchen-counter sex, blow jobs in the backyard, and torrid rendezvous in the bathroom."

"There was only one rendezvous in the bathroom and it didn't exactly end well."

"I guess we should've picked up where we left off _before_ the Irish blew the place up."

"Too late now," he said, regretfully.

"It's okay," she said. She tossed the bra aside and her voice turned sultry. "I'm sure I can find someplace to fuck you in the ice cream shop."

His pupils went huge and his hands froze on their journey up her body. "That—um. Uh." He cleared his throat and shook his head. "Never thought I'd hear someone say that to me."

Her brow quirked and she lifted his hand to her mouth. She sucked one of his fingers between her lips and swirled her tongue around it. "It looks like the idea has a certain appeal."

He let out a shaky breath. "Well, I mean. Ice cream. Sweet…things…your, um. Your mouth." His head tilted. "_My_ mouth."

She sighed and pushed him onto his back. Straddled his hips and ran her hands up under the hem of his t-shirt to stroke his warm skin. "You have a dirty mind, my love."

"I haven't really heard you complain before," he said with a cocky grin.

"Not complaining now." She brushed her fingers lightly over the new tattoo and he shivered. It was mostly healed, but the skin was still incredibly sensitive. She bent down to kiss him long and hot, and as she straightened he cupped her breasts.

And paused. "Babe," he said with a frown, "are your boobs bigger?"

She looked down. "Hum." Always before she'd just-but-not-quite filled one of his hands; now each one clearly overflowed his fingers a little bit. "That's weird."

"Could it be those new vitamins?"

She made a face. "Sorry to disappoint, love, but Lyla gave me those for my hair and nails, not my tits. It's a B-vitamin supplement with some Omega3 whats-its thrown in."

"Hhmm," he said. He squeezed a little and she yelped.

"Hey, geez, those are attached. Careful."

He gave her an odd look. She loved it when he squeezed her breasts like that. "Liv. Are you okay?"

"Um." She waved a hand. "Yeah, you know. Probably just about to start my period. My boobs always get more sensitive a few days before. You know that."

He did know, but usually they were sensitive in a _pay more attention to them_ way, not a _don't touch them because it fucking hurts_ way.

She laughed a little and kissed his nose. "You look so worried, babe. Here." She took his hands and guided them lower. "There are plenty of other parts of me for you to play with."

Their lips met as he caressed her ass and up the line of her back. She unbuckled his belt and lowered the zipper. Rucked his shirt up his chest and mouthed a line from the waist of his boxers to his sternum.

"Plenty of parts of _you_ for _me_ to play with, too," she murmured against his skin. He squirmed beneath her as she ran her tongue along his collarbone and dipped into the hollow of his throat. She left soft, sucking kisses—with just a hint of teeth—up his neck.

"Eek!" she cried. Suddenly she was on her back looking up at him.

He grinned. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone actually say _eek_ before."

"Well, you know. I make all sorts of noises when I'm with you."

"That's true," he said, his voice dropping. He kept a watchful eye on her face and gently swirled a soft tongue across each of her nipples.

"Mmmm," she said. "Do that again."

"You liked that?" He blew a stream of air across each one and watched them grow hard.

"Uh huh." Her back arched a little and she let out a quiet gasp as he repeated it.

He pulled back and ran a hand over her stomach. "Listen, Liv, about last night—"

"You mean when you came home on an adrenaline high that translated into furious, wanton sex? What about it?"

His forehead creased. "Ha, yeah. Um. I just wanted to say I hope I didn't…hurt you. We usually aren't quite so, er…" He trailed off and cast about for the right word.

"Brutal?"

He flinched. "That's kinda—"

"Accurate?"

A huff of impatience. "Liv, come on."

She chuckled. "It's okay, Juicy. If you remember I was right there with you. And, yeah, I guess there was some lingering acheyness, but it was the good kind. The _I've just been well and thoroughly fucked all night_ kind."

He dipped his head and she could swear he was blushing, but when he looked up again he was grinning from ear to ear. "So, um. Wanna do it again?"

Her mouth quirked. The dimple in her chin flashed. "I thought you'd never ask, sugar."

* * *

This time it was her turn to slip out of bed while Juice slept. The sun was barely up, but she had some things she needed to get done and wanted an early start. She hurried through her shower. When she got dressed her favorite jeans were too tight, so she swapped them out for a pair with a baggier fit ("boyfriend style," which she sincerely hated and had bought on a whim that she'd almost instantly regretted). In the kitchen she assembled some cheese toast, and as soon as the toaster oven beeped she grabbed her food and rushed out the door.

Her first stop was TM. This time of day the place was deserted, and that was exactly how she wanted it. She pressed her fists to her hips and surveyed the damage inside the garage. Eventually they would get things put to rights, if for no other reason than because the club desperately needed the income. In the meantime she had a custom job to finish and she needed more tools at the ice cream shop.

Her thoughts scattered and she pressed a hand to her forehead. Took a long, shaky breath. There was no fucking way. Sure, her boobs were bigger and more sensitive. Yes, her clothes were a bit snug. And, okay, yesterday she'd nearly burst into tears at her first sight of the garage and, later, the smell of roast beef had sent her running for the bathroom. But there was no _fucking_ way.

She did a quick mental calculation and cringed.

_If_ that weird bit of spotting she'd had right after she got out of the hospital hadn't been an actual period, then it had been nearly six weeks since her last one.

"Ollie girl! To what do we owe this early-morning pleasure?"

Chibs' voice startled her so badly that she reeled. He held out a hand to catch her and she jerked away with a tremulous smile. "Shouldn't sneak up on people like that," she said, a little breathlessly.

He peered at her. She'd stopped reacting like a startled rabbit when someone came up behind her…over a year ago. He never would've done it otherwise. He took note of her pale face and dark-rimmed eyes. She was dressed oddly, too: lose-fitting jeans nothing like her usual style, and a t-shirt he strongly suspected belonged to Juice.

"You all right, lass?"

"You just scared me, that's all," she said. "I didn't think anyone was around."

Her light tone didn't fool him. "You sure that's it? Not comin' down with somethin'?"

Her mouth twisted. "People keep asking me that. Do I look that bad?"

He snorted. "I'm not fool enough to answer that question. You're pretty as a picture, Ollie girl, and don't let anyone tell you any different."

"Flatterer," she said. Then, "I'm just tired. Not sleeping well, I guess."

"Hhmm. Well if Juicy boy isn't up to the task of wearin' you out, you know where to find a man who can," he said and waggled his brows.

It had the intended effect: she burst out laughing, bright and unfettered peals that echoed through the garage. He waved a hand and feigned irritation.

"You don't have to laugh _so_ hard, lass."

Still grinning, she patted his arm. "I do love you, Chibby."

"Aye, well." He sniffed. "Rather fond of you, too. But let's not get maudlin about it."

"I wouldn't dare." Her smile was warm and easy, and their shared look lingered for a little longer before she turned away. "I'm glad you're here, actually. You can help me haul some of this shit to my car."

"Movin', are you?"

"Sort of. I took a look at the shop yesterday, and I think I can get the milkshake maker thingies working again. Chucky has a mind to turn it back into a real ice cream parlor, and he seemed so excited about it I didn't have the heart to tell him no."

"You keep messin' with that boy's hands he'll be able to make the milkshakes his own mad self."

"That's my goal. Bionic Chucky."

"Perish the notion."

With Chibs' help she got everything sorted and loaded in no time, and he followed her into town to help her get things settled at the shop. The back room workspace was coming together well, and after some messing she was at least mostly satisfied. She got him to wrestle the big Reaper onto the table for her, and then she shooed him out.

The Reaper's scythe had come apart in the blast, but it should be an easy fix. She slid her goggles into place and lit the blowtorch. Soon the smell of hot metal filled the air and she was lost in the calming simplicity of work.

But the reprieve couldn't last forever, and after a few hours she straightened and stretched the crook out of her back. Her stomach rumbled, but a wave of queasiness followed right after. She closed her eyes and stripped off her gloves. A few choice curses later she pulled out her phone and dialed Tara's number.

Several of the guys, including Juice, were in the shop when she emerged from the back. They all greeted her, and she bumped Juice with her shoulder when she joined him at the bar.

"Chibs told me you were here, but I didn't want to bother you while you were playin' with the torch."

She grinned and picked up his beer. Stared for a moment at the bottle and put it down again. She covered the moment with a quick shrug. "Little early for beer, maybe," she said.

He gave her a curious look, but she ignored it and turned to address the room in general. "So what's on the agenda today, boys?"

"Gemma just called," Bobby said "She's on her way over with some friend of Nero's. One of his girls, I guess."

"Hhmm," she said. "I was gonna head to St. Thomas to see Tara, but if you guys need me…?"

"Nah," Tig said. "Didn't sound like any sort of medical thing."

"We'll call you if somethin' comes up," Bobby said, "but Tig's right. Sounded more like she's in trouble and needs that kinda help. Not patchin' up."

"Okay," she said. "Y'all know where I am if you change your mind."

She brushed her fingers against the back of Juice's neck as she went past toward the door. She still wasn't comfortable with public displays of affection and probably never would be. He understood what she meant with that feather-light caress, and he matched her brief smile with one of his own.

"Bye, guys," she said. "Ride safe."

The bell over the door jingled as she pushed out onto the sidewalk, and Juice watched her until she was in her car. There'd been something strange about her. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but he knew he wasn't imagining it.

"Her tits look bigger to anybody else?" Tig said.

Happy smacked him on the back of the head. "You can't talk about her tits anymore, man. She's Juice's old lady now."

"Right." Tig grimaced. "Sorry, brother."

Juice grinned a little. "Forget it. Just don't let her hear you say anything."

"Fuck no," he said. "I like my balls right where they are, thanks."

Laughter followed, and Juice joined in half-heartedly. He didn't know a whole lot about biology, but he knew there were only a couple things that could make a woman's tits grow—and Olivia sure as fuck hadn't gotten implants.

* * *

"Well?" Olivia said. She rung her hands and paced away. "No. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"Ollie, come on. Sit down," Tara said.

"I definitely can't do that. Fuck, I think I might throw up."

"Well, that's common in this stage."

"This _stage_?" she cried. "So it was positive?!"

There was a pause. "Congratulations…?" Tara said, uncertainly.

Olivia collapsed into one of the chairs and leaned forward to rest her forehead in her hands. "Oh my God. This can't be happening."

Tara sat down next to her and rubbed a hand up and down her back. "Birth control isn't one hundred percent effective, Ollie. You know that."

She sat up fast and grasped Tara's fingers. "You don't understand. This _can't_. _Be_. _Happening_. It's not a matter of a broken condom. I had my tubes tied almost ten years ago!"

Tara's face fell. Her expression turned grave. "Oh."

"_Oh_ is right."

She shifted in her seat. "Do you use a backup means of birth control?"

"No, Tara. I had a fucking operation to prevent this from happening. I didn't really think backup was necessary."

Tara cleared her throat and leaned a little closer. "We need to get you an appointment with an OB-GYN. It is possible to get pregnant after tubal ligation, but it's rare. And ectopic pregnancy is a lot more common."

She frowned a little. She knew what ectopic pregnancy was—the surgeon who'd performed her ligation had explained the risks. After surgery her ovaries would still release eggs like always, and she'd still have her cycle every month, but the egg would stay up in the tube. Sometimes one of those determined little fuckers was able to swim through the barrier created by the surgery, and the egg couldn't pass down into the uterus like it was supposed to. Thus, fertilized egg in exactly the wrong place.

Part of her was relieved. If it were an ectopic pregnancy they could give her drugs that would resolve it before it became dangerous. She knew that much, but what she didn't know—

"How do they diagnose that versus just, I mean. Being knocked up?"

"You said you had spotting a few weeks ago. Was it just that one time, or has it been more often?"

She hitched a shoulder. "It lasted a day or two and went away." She hesitated. "I've been pregnant before, Tara. Three times. I don't remember it happening then."

Tara's brow creased. "Did you miscarry, or—?"

Olivia met her eyes with a long, frank look. "My loving husband wasn't ready for kids yet," she said, simply.

"Ah," Tara said. She swallowed and looked away. "Jesus."

"Yeah," she said with a quick, bitter smile.

"Is that why you…?" She made a gesture toward her middle and Olivia knew what she meant.

"I don't know. Maybe. But, I mean, I was the only one really hurt by it. And it wasn't like I was that upset: the last thing I wanted in that situation was a baby. Can you even imagine?" She shuddered and passed a hand over her eyes. "I just hated having my choice taken away _again_, like it was about every fucking thing."

Tara studied her. It was easy to see the pattern that had turned her into the woman she was now. They were both hard, and they were both angry, and they both understood that sometimes life called for desperate measures. Ten years ago Olivia had been twenty-one. That was young as hell to decide you never wanted to be pregnant.

Tara waved a hand. "It's going to be fine, Ollie. I can make you an appointment for later this afternoon. She'll do a pelvic and will probably want to do an ultrasound. Even this early you can usually tell if an embryo is where it's supposed to be."

"Okay," she said on a long breath. "Yeah, okay. I need to know before it gets worse."

_Worse_, Tara thought. Interesting way to phrase it. If it were a tubal pregnancy then that was pretty fitting, but otherwise…

"What do you think you'll do?" Tara said.

"I don't know. I honestly don't. The only time we've even talked about kids was when I told him about the surgery. He said he didn't want to expose kids to this life, and I completely agree with that. We've only been together six months!"

"Please," Tara said with a snort. "That's a technicality and everyone knows it." She touched the back of Olivia's hand, and she lifted her chin. "You need to talk to him before you decide anything, Ollie. I know it's your body and ultimately your decision, but I think you'll regret it if you don't at least tell him what you're planning."

Her mouth twisted. "Am I awful for hoping it's ectopic?"

"No. It would save you from having to make an incredibly hard decision."

She bit her lip. "Juice would be really upset if he found out _after_ an abortion."

"Like I said."

"Yeah, no, you're right," she said with a brief shake of her head. "But, listen. Let's go see the OB-GYN and find out if…things are where they're supposed to be. There's no point getting him worried or—or—_excited_—without reason. I'll talk to him after."

"Sure, Ollie," Tara said. "Let me make the call."

* * *

_I wasn't really expecting this to happen? But. Here goes anyway. Not sure how it'll ultimately fall out._

_I would love to hear from you, dear readers. :)_


	38. Gone

This chapter is quite short by design. I didn't want to jump to anything else after...everything.

Sensitive subject matter ahead, loves. And sadness.

* * *

**what's so funny is the way things go down**  
**like when a star dies it doesn't make a sound**  
**it's just gone and you can't find it**  
**when you look into the sky**  
Bob Schneider, "Changing My Mind"

Olivia sat in Dr. Sara Martinez' office and waited. As a favor to Tara she was looking at the ultrasound film and other test results now so that Olivia could get her answer as soon as possible. She'd sent Tara back to her office and told her she'd call if she needed anything. She'd gone reluctantly, but she'd gone.

Olivia fought the urge to pace. She wasn't sure what news she wanted, and that upset her more than anything. She loved Juice. She wanted to be with him…well. For as long as they could make it. But a kid? That wasn't in her playbook. She barely even liked to babysit.

The door opened and Olivia started to her feet.

"No, don't get up," Dr. Martinez said in her warm voice. She took the chair next to Olivia rather than barricading herself behind the desk. "How are you, Olivia?" she said.

"I'm—nervous, I guess. Tired."

"Tiredness is one of the first signs of pregnancy. I'm more concerned that you're not able to sleep."

"It's not any sort of chronic insomnia. I just—recently I was attacked—well. You have my records. It brought up a lot of…issues."

"Hhmm." Her face creased in empathy. "I can understand that. It's important that you try to avoid stress as much as possible, both for your sake and the baby's."

She lifted a brow. "So it's…good news, then?"

"It is. The pregnancy isn't ectopic." She hesitated. "Your medical records don't go back as far as I would like," she said. "For example, there's nothing in here about your ligation."

"There wouldn't be," Olivia said. "The doctor did it sort of on the down low. As a favor, more than anything."

Dr. Martinez settled her glasses on her nose and flipped through the file in her hand. Her olive eyes lingered over Olivia's X-rays. "I see," she said at last. She looked up and met Olivia's gaze. "How many times did you miscarry?"

"Three," she said.

She crossed one leg over the other and tugged her glasses off to dangle from the chain around her neck. "Have you spoken to your partner about the possibility of pregnancy?"

"No," she said. "It's sort of a shock, all things considered."

"Understandable. And it's very rare so long after a tubal ligation." She paused and studied Olivia's pale face. "I am a bit worried about some abnormalities I noticed in the ultrasound."

"Abnormalities? But you said tadpole was in the right place."

The corner of her mouth lifted, briefly, before she went serious again. "The embryo is in your uterus, yes, but I'm afraid there's a great deal of scarring present. Were any of your previous miscarriages later in the term?"

"The last one," she said, quietly. "Second trimester."

The doctor rested a hand on Olivia's. Her expression was full of compassion. "I can't imagine what you've been through, Olivia. I wish I didn't have to tell you this, but—I am concerned that you wouldn't be able to carry this pregnancy to term."

"You're saying my body would kill the baby. Because my uterus is so fucked up."

"That's a succinct way of putting it, yes. Though it's more _might_ than _certainly would_."

Her lips twisted and tears stood out in her eyes. "It figures. TJ Flanary, still managing to fuck with my life from beyond the grave."

"We can run some more tests. I can take another look, if you like. A trans-vaginal ultrasound would tell us a great deal more."

She winced. "That doesn't sound like a lot of fun."

"I'll be frank with you, Olivia: many women with your history find the experience traumatic or triggering. I see in here that Dr. Rose diagnosed you with PTSD following your recent attack."

"Hum. Doesn't miss a beat, that Dr. Rose."

"He's a very sharp man," Dr. Martinez agreed with a quick smile. "Olivia," she said, "you need to take some time to think about your options. Go home and discuss it with your partner."

She chewed on her lower lip and looked away. "What are its chances?"

"If you make it past week twenty there's a very good chance you can carry to term."

"And the odds of me making it past week twenty?"

"I don't like to quote numbers, Olivia."

"Right." She brushed the heel of her hand against her eye. "So about as good as drawing an inside straight."

"I'm not much of a card player," she said.

"It's a sucker's bet. Trust me."

"You would need to be extremely careful during the entire pregnancy. What do you do?"

"Um. I'm a mechanic."

"An auto mechanic?"

She smiled. "That's the one. But, uh. You might've heard about the little…accident? We had at the garage recently. These days I'm doing a lot of…not exactly construction work, but repairs. Welding. That sort of thing."

"I did hear, yes." She paused. "Are incidents of that nature common?"

"It, er. Well. It happens."

She let out a long sigh. "I have to tell you it deeply concerns me. You work in a profession that is potentially harmful to an unborn fetus, and you're exposed to constant stress. In the past month you've been brutally attacked and nearly blown up. Also, what exactly happened to your leg?"

"Tiny hunting accident. Nobody's fault, really."

She made a low noise of disapproval. "You don't smoke or use drugs, which is good, and you say you only drink occasionally, but overall your lifestyle combined with the problems I'm seeing make me fear for the health and viability of this pregnancy. I know that isn't the news you were hoping for, but—" She spread her hands with a rueful look.

"I could—I mean, I guess I could quit my job." _For the next ten months, plus maternity leave_, she thought. And then what? Baby Bjorn while she worked on a transmission?

That image actually brought a little smile to her face.

"Honestly that's a minor issue in relation to the rest. I'm sure there are tasks you could do around your workplace that wouldn't endanger the fetus. No more welding, for a start."

"Assuming I didn't get shot or blown up or smashed into a bathtub."

"Assuming all of that, yes."

She leaned forward and dropped her head into her hands. Tara had Thomas. But most of the club had been in jail during her pregnancy, and Tara at least…Olivia worked _right there_. There was no separating her life, as it was now, from the club.

She had loathed TJ with every ounce of her being. She could never have imagined bearing his child, much less having to raise a kid in those conditions. Her miscarriages—despite the trauma that had accompanied them—had almost felt like blessings.

This was different. Yes, she was scared half to death. No, she wasn't sure if she were ready for a baby, or if Juice was…but she loved Juice. He loved her. She pressed a hand to her middle. As much as she hated the idea of ending it, she also didn't think she could deal if she lost it. And from what Dr. Martinez was saying, that loss seemed almost inevitable.

The silence stretched and lengthened as she wrestled with it. At last Dr. Martinez said, "Olivia, do you want to terminate?"

"From the sound of things it'll happen whether I want it to or not."

"That's—likely, I'm afraid."

She drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair. "Could you please call Dr. Knowles?" she said. Her voice was thick, her eyes red. "Tell her I'll need a ride home, and I'd like her to—to be with me. If she can."

"Very well, Olivia. I'll have my nurse make the call and draw up the paperwork." She rose, but she stopped at the door. "You can change your mind at any time. Okay?"

"No," she murmured. "No, I really can't."

* * *

When Tara heard what Dr. Martinez had to say (and Olivia suspected she'd been a little more direct with Tara, while she'd been trying to cushion the news with Olivia), she had agreed with Olivia's decision. She did think she should call Juice first. Give him the chance to be there. But Olivia refused.

So it was Tara who held her hand and Tara who was with her during her brief time in recovery. She assured her repeatedly that she wouldn't tell Juice or anyone else—except Lyla, Olivia said, because she knew Lyla would understand.

Back at Olivia's house, Tara helped her out of the car and back into the bedroom. Helped her change into some pajamas (she was amazed she had any; must've bought them on the same ill-fated shopping trip that got her boyfriend jeans) and tucked her in bed.

"I'll go make some tea," she said.

Olivia nodded. Her eyes drifted to the window. Tara watched her a moment, concerned by the blankness in her gaze. She let out a short breath and went to put the kettle on.

She hadn't moved when Tara got back. "I made chamomile. It'll help you sleep."

Her mouth moved in the ghost of a smile and she took the mug Tara offered. "Thank you," she murmured. "For everything, I mean. You didn't have to—"

"Of course I did." She climbed into the bed next to Olivia and sat with her legs crossed. Sipped at her own tea.

"Please don't tell Juice," she said for probably the tenth time.

"Ollie, I won't. I promise I won't."

"Or Jax. He doesn't need anything else to hold over Juice's head."

Tara frowned. "I wouldn't tell Jax. Jax and I barely speak these days."

"Hhmm." Her chin tilted in Tara's direction. "Listen. You know how much I appreciate this, and I'll never forget it, but I…I can't help you with your plan."

Tara grabbed her hand and squeezed. "I wouldn't have expected you to, now. It's okay."

"I won't tell anyone. And if I can help you with anything _else_, you can call me anytime. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do." She looked away and tears shimmered in her dark eyes. "You must think I'm some sort of monster."

"No. No, Tara. You're scared and you're desperate." She waved her left wrist under Tara's nose. "Look what I did when I got scared and desperate."

"I hate Gemma. I _do_. But I loved her once, and you're right—it's going to destroy her to think she killed her grandchild."

"At least you're not gonna shoot her dick off."

Tara stared at her a moment. Her mouth twitched and she let out a short bark of laughter. "I guess that's a silver lining."

"Yup." Her head lolled the other way and the moment of levity passed. When she spoke again her voice was choked and halting. "This is my fault, Tara. All of it."

"No! Hey, no, don't say that." She ran a hand up and down Olivia's arm. "Sometimes these things happen, Olivia. Your previous miscarriages—"

"Are my fault! When I found out I was pregnant the first time I should've left. Packed a bag and just taken off. But I didn't. And I didn't go after the second one. Or even the third! What kind of coward am I?"

"Stop that right now. Where would you have gone? What would you have done for money? If you'd left while pregnant it would've been dangerous to work in a garage. How would you have taken care of your baby?"

She seized Olivia by the shoulders and made her face her. "What your abuser did to you is _not your fault_, Ollie. _This_ is not your fault. I know you know that."

Her head bobbed up and down like a rag doll's. "I know," she said. "I do know." She pulled out of Tara's hold and rested her forehead in her hand. "I _do_ know. It's just so hard to remember sometimes."

"Maybe you should go see Dr. Rose. Talk some of this out. Or, if you didn't like him, there's a woman who works at St. Thomas I really like. I can get you an appointment."

Her face furrowed, but after a moment she nodded. "Maybe that's a good idea."

The sound of a motorcycle drifted from down the street.

"That's probably Juice," she said. She wasn't as familiar with the noise of his new bike as she'd been with the old one.

"Should I go?"

"Might be better."

"What will you tell him? About why I gave you a ride home?"

"Um." She rubbed her temples. "He knows I haven't been feeling great the last few days. I'll tell him I'm sick, and you thought it would be safer if I didn't drive."

Tara had no room to talk about lying, so she just nodded. She pressed a kiss to Olivia's forehead and slipped out of bed. "If you need anything, call me. I'll call Lyla and tell her what's going on."

"Okay, Tara. Thank you."

"Of course." She gave her a doctor look. "Take your antibiotics and don't stop until they're gone. Get lots of rest and plenty of fluids. And no sex for at _least_ two weeks."

"Dr. Martinez said all of that."

"Yeah, and it's important. Drink your tea."

"Yes, mom." She sipped obediently and Tara rolled her eyes.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

* * *

Juice stared at Tara's SUV in confusion. Where was the Cougar? Olivia had said she was going to the hospital to see Tara—she hadn't gotten arrested _again_, had she? Well at least this time Juice would know it had happened.

He started toward the house when the door opened and Tara stepped out. She waved at Juice and he waved back.

"What's up?" he said. "Where's Olivia's car?"

"We left it at St. Thomas," Tara said. She held up a hand at his startled look. "She's fine, but she wasn't feeling well. I didn't think it was safe for her to drive."

"Oh. Is she okay?"

"Like I said. We got her checked out, and it's a minor infection. She has some antibiotics, and as long as she takes those and gets plenty of rest she'll be fine."

He frowned. "I knew she'd been run down lately—"

"That's probably why. All the stress she's been through just wore down her immune system." She patted him on the arm. "Don't worry, Juice. Just keep an eye on her, and if she spikes a fever call me. Okay?"

He gave a stuttering nod. Tara turned toward her car, but Juice stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. "Hey, hang on. Could I ask you—um. Could I ask you a doctor question?"

Tara crossed her arms and cast him a wary glance. "Sure, Juice. Shoot."

He hesitated. Looked back toward the house and then at her again. "Besides something obvious like implants, what could cause a woman's breasts to get bigger? And, like, hurt?"

She kept her expression neutral. This could be dangerous territory, and the last thing she wanted to do was give away Olivia's secret. "A few things. If we're talking about Olivia, I'd say the most likely explanation is just pre-menstrual symptoms."

"Huh. Why would it be different for her?"

"She had her tubes tied, Juice. I know she told you that."

"Yeah." He shook his head and his mouth twisted. "Yeah, of course. Thanks, Tara."

"You're welcome. Remember what I said about a fever, or if she gets to feeling much worse." She paused. Then, "She might act a little strange. Some people have weird reactions to antibiotics, and you know how cagey she is about her medical history. If she's crying or upset, that's probably normal. Just make sure she's…safe."

He blinked at her. He'd never heard of a reaction like that, but he wasn't the doctor. "Sure," he said, doubtfully. "I'll watch her."

Tara waved again and climbed up into the car. Juice watched until she was out of sight before he went inside.

Olivia was in bed, and though she was dozing when he walked in, the sound of his footsteps roused her.

"Hey," he said with a soft smile. "Tara told me you were feelin' kinda shitty."

"Kinda," she said. She tried to return his smile, but she only managed a feeble curve of her mouth.

He frowned and brushed her hair back from her pale cheeks. "Anything I can get you? More tea? A cookie?"

"I like cookies."

"I know you do. I think there are some of those chocolate chip left. The ones Gemma baked."

She shook her head. "No. I'm not hungry."

"Okay," he said. Something about her face made his breath catch in his throat. She didn't look sick so much as…_sad_. Her normally bright eyes were bleak and haunted, and the pallor to her skin had a different cast than it had yesterday when she'd claimed she was just tired.

"I know this's a stupid question, all things considered, but…babe, are you okay? For real?"

She opened her mouth to lie, but the words died on her tongue. "I don't know, Juicy," she whispered. Her face crumbled and she covered it with her hands. She was silent, wracked, and for a moment he was frozen in horror.

His brain kicked in and he got in bed next to her. He started to put his arm around her, but she pushed it away.

"Please don't," she whispered. "I couldn't stand it."

He sat helpless, his hands curled in his lap, and watched her sob. "Olivia—"

She grabbed a handful of his t-shirt and pulled him closer. Unsure, frightened, he wrapped his arms around her like she might shatter if he moved too fast. She pressed her face against his chest and he stroked a light hand over her hair.

Antibiotics. Right. Something was going on, something Tara and Olivia didn't want him to know about, and for now he'd accept that. He could let it go and just be there for her, but eventually he would want to know what had her sobbing in his arms like she might die from the pain.

He kissed the crown of her head and rested his cheek against it. "I love you, Olivia," he murmured. "No matter what, I love you."

She let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "I know, Juicy," she said, her voice made raspy from weeping. "I know you do."

* * *

_Okay. *deep breath* This chapter actually made me cry while I was writing it._

_Believe me, I understand what a sensitive issue this is. I do 100% believe in a woman's right to choose, but I also believe it's an incredibly difficult decision for any woman to make. I wanted to make it clear that Olivia didn't make her choice just because a baby might be an "inconvenience" (even though I hate that idea, and mostly hear it from men who have no CLUE what carrying a child is actually like), but instead she made it from a place of desperation. The dangerous lifestyle combined with the risk of losing the baby was too much, and I hope that's understood. Honestly, there's only so much loss and trauma a person can take before they break from it._

_Having said that, I TRIED to do research on the lasting physical effects of miscarriage via violence, but I could find BASICALLY NOTHING. I did find that only 17% of women are screened for domestic violence when they have a miscarriage, and only 10% after the second miscarriage. Other than that, I combed probably a dozen sources for information about miscarriage, and NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THEM listed violence as a cause. Way to make women who've been victims of violence feel marginalized and less important than women who miscarry by other means._

_In other words, I have no idea if her previous miscarriages would have caused the scarring Dr. Martinez describes. I know that miscarriage via other means _doesn't_ cause permanent damage, but. Well. Violence leaves all sorts of scars. So._


	39. Stones

So this isn't a disclaimer, bc I said I wouldn't make those anymore, but I do want to clarify where we are at this point: I've stretched the timeline a bit here so that Tara's faked miscarriage and Jax finding out about it is extended; the total time elapsed between the last chapter and the ice cream shop scene in this one is two weeks.

The scene in the ice cream shop is basically a continuation (sorta) of the scene from 6x9 that takes place in Diosa's kitchen. I've moved it here bc Ollie has no reason to go to Diosa. *shrug*

Anyway. Hope that makes things a little clearer. :) Oh, one more thing: PLEASE do yourself a favor and go find somewhere you can listen to "Changing My Mind" by Bob Schneider. It's been the quote for the last three chapters, and it's just. It's basically been my mental soundtrack (on loop) as I've written them.

* * *

**what's so funny is nobody's laughing**  
**at this change of heart you're having**  
**and what's so funny is i'm filled up with thunder**  
**but i can't seem to get out from under**  
**all these stones you tied to my chest**  
Bob Schneider, "Changing My Mind"

The days passed and Olivia felt like she was living in a fog. Tara went through with her plan; Jax signed the restraining order against Gemma. Olivia still couldn't wrap her brain around the idea that Gemma had attacked Tara badly enough to believe she'd caused a miscarriage. Olivia, for one, knew what it took…and it actually wasn't as easy as one might think.

It was nearly a week before she went back to work, and then she had to come up with various excuses for not lifting anything heavy. She spent an inordinate amount of time on the milkshake machines. Then she tinkered with the freezers for a day or two. She avoided the guys as much as possible.

She avoided everyone, really, except Chucky, because as weird as he was, Chucky knew when to keep his mouth shut. He didn't ask a million questions like Tig and he didn't give her any of those worried, probing _looks_ like she got from Chibs.

Most importantly: he never tried to touch her.

She was, in many ways, back to the woman she'd been her first day in Charming: paranoid, frightened, mistrusting. Her eye was always on the door and no one walked behind her and even the briefest, lightest hand on her arm made her go tense and taut like a live wire.

With Juice…well. She could barely stand the way he looked at her, with so much love and trust. She had lied to him. She was still lying to him. She had betrayed him. She firmly believed that decision was _hers_—her body, her life, her choice—but Tara had been right: she should have told him. Now, two weeks later, it felt too late.

And so she avoided him, too. His presence had always comforted her. Even from the beginning there'd been something about him, something about his smile and his kindness and the warmth of his touch that had soothed her. Now she flinched when he reached for her and turned away from his kiss. She could see the hurt and confusion in his eyes, and the first night he'd decided to stay at his place rather than come to hers, she'd been relieved.

The second night she'd been worried.

The third night she cried herself to sleep and woke up feeling like a zombie.

She had her two week checkup with Dr. Martinez two days later, and Juice still hadn't come back. Physically, she said, Olivia was fine, exactly where she should be at this point, but she strongly recommend she make (and actually keep) an appointment with Dr. Rose. Olivia assured her she would and then tossed the appointment card in the trash on the way out.

Back at the ice cream shop something big was going down. Nero was there, and Gemma, and it looked like there'd been some sort of incident.

"What's going on?" she whispered to Chucky.

"Don't know. Haven't asked. Making myself scarce." And with that he disappeared into the back.

Olivia thought that was probably the smart move, but before she made it two steps, Jax' voice cut through the room. "Olivia!"

She froze. Pivoted slowly. "Jackson," she said. His expression was thunderous, and he charged toward her. She fell back against the closed door and threw her arm across her face in an instinctual gesture of self defense.

Chibs grabbed Jax even as he stopped himself. They all stared, and as she slowly lowered her arm and took stock of each stunned face—Gemma, Nero, Tig, Happy, Jax, Chibs—she was glad to note that Juice wasn't there. She swallowed hard and straightened. Jax held up his hands and took a cautious step forward.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Olivia," he said, his voice low and soothing, like he might use on a startled horse or an angry dog.

"Of course not," she said. She tried to laugh it off, but no one was fooled. She had gone bone white beneath her freckles and the hand she ran over her hair trembled. She cleared her throat. "Did you need to ask me something?"

He shifted his weight back on his heels and studied her through narrowed eyes. "It's about Tara," he said.

She summoned a smile from somewhere. "How's she doing? Feeling any better?"

Gemma let out a snort and spun away. Jax glared after her a moment. Then, "The pregnancy was fake, Ollie. There was no miscarriage."

Her eyes flicked from Gemma to Jax and back again. "No way," she said with a shake of her head. "Jax, there's no way—"

"It's true, Ollie," Nero said, wearily. "Gemma has proof."

"And you're tryin' to say you didn't know a fucking thing about it, sweetheart?" Gemma said. Her voice was heavily dosed with a combination of disgust and disbelief.

"You're kidding, right?" she said.

"Just answer the question, lass," Chibs said.

"I had no idea, and I don't appreciate you insinuating otherwise." She took a step closer and glared at Jax. "But, you know, if Tara was willing to do something that extreme, maybe you should take a second to ask yourself _why_. Think a little less about her _actions_ and maybe look a little closer at her _reactions_."

"So you didn't know," Gemma said, "but you're still taking her side?"

She let out a sigh. "I'm not taking any sides, Gemma. I don't like being—_cornered_ by half the fucking club plus a few and treated like _I_ did something wrong. No, Jackson, I didn't know the pregnancy was fake. If you have anything else you want to discuss with me, I'll be in the back."

Without waiting for a reply, she pushed through the door and slammed it behind her. Jax shot Chibs an incredulous look.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with her?"

"She's been like that for weeks," Tig said. "Can't even talk to her these days."

"She needs to get her shit together. We've got too much goin' on right now to deal with an unstable mechanic." His expression hardened. "And she knows way too much about the club to be that fuckin' angry."

Chibs lifted a calming hand. "Relax, Jackie. Let me have a chat with her, yeah?"

He gestured toward the back room as if to say _have at it_. He jerked around and scrubbed both hands through his hair and down his face. "I got that business with Patterson," he said at last.

They'd taken the vote yesterday: to get her off the club's back (and to get Tara out from under the conspiracy charges), they were going to turn over Galen and his guns. Jax had asked her for a meeting this afternoon, and he had no idea what any of them were going to do if she didn't take the offer.

"Want company?" Tig said.

"Nah. Don't want her to think I'm bringin' muscle. Hang here and keep an ear out if Barasky calls. We gotta get him back in." He dropped a hand onto Chibs' shoulder. "Talk to Ollie, and then get in touch with Galen. Find out what they have planned about this fuckin' jailbreak. I want that shit nailed down as soon as possible."

"Consider it handled, Jackie boy."

"What are you gonna do about Tara?" Gemma said.

"I don't know yet. Just—just stay away from her for now. I'll figure it out."

Gemma didn't look happy, but after a while she nodded.

Nero slipped an arm around her waist. "Come on, mama. Let me get you home."

"Jackie," Chibs said as he started toward the door.

He cast a glance back over his shoulder. Chibs flicked a finger toward his own face. "Might wanna get that seen to before you go chattin' with the DA."

"I'd love to, but our medic's currently in a goddamn snit."

"Come on," Happy said. "I got it. First aid kit's in the bathroom. You too, _esse_," he said to Nero.

Jax shrugged at Nero's look. "Least we can do, considering."

"Yeah, _mano_," he said. He sounded like he was ready to wash his hands of this whole thing. "Whatever you say."

* * *

The door to the back room workshop was closed, and Chibs hesitated a moment. He listened, but he couldn't hear much from inside. Apparently she wasn't throwing things around, something she normally did when she was angry. He couldn't decide if that was a good sign or a bad one.

He knocked and she called for him to come in. She had an engine taken apart on the big table, and while the scatter of bits and pieces might look like chaos, Chibs knew if he asked for a specific part she'd be able to reach for it instantly, and probably with her eyes closed.

Her expression was wary, and if he weren't mistaken it looked like she'd been crying. He crossed his arms over his chest and kicked the door shut behind him. She jumped a little at the sound and his frown deepened.

He decided to start with something easy. He nodded his head toward the table. "Little project, lass?"

She relaxed a bit and hitched a shoulder. "It's from Juice's old bike. The one those guys took apart. I thought it could use a little something before I put it all back together again."

He started to reach for one of the parts, to take a closer look, but at the last minute he let his hand fall again. Normally she didn't mind people poking around in her work as long as they were respectful and put everything back where they found it, but with the mood she'd been in lately, he didn't want to push her.

Instead he propped himself against one of the smaller tables along the wall and crossed one ankle over the other.

"Is there something I can help you with, Chibs?"

"Not really. I was more wonderin' if I could help you with anything, Ollie m'dear."

"Oh. No, thank you. I've got everything under control. And my strength is pretty much back, so I can lift things again." She flashed a brief smile that didn't touch her eyes. "All good."

She seemed to be choosing each word with exaggerated care, enunciating each syllable with a formality that wasn't like her at all. And no cursing. If that didn't raise a red flag then he hadn't been paying attention for the last two plus years.

He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "That wasn't really what I meant."

"Then maybe you should explain, because honestly I'm not in the mood for double talk."

That sounded more like her. "You've been odd the past few weeks, lass. We've all noticed—except maybe Jackie, but he's had a bit on his mind—and we're concerned. You're a steady one, usually, and it's worrisome when you act so…" He trailed off, unsure of the word he wanted.

"Unstable? Crazy? Moody?"

"Ach, well. Aye, I suppose."

She made a low noise that could mean any number of things. Her eyes flicked away and she drummed her fingers against the table. "In the last two months I've been assaulted in my own home, shot, and nearly blown up. How would you like me to act, Chibs?" She pinned him with her hot gaze. "Is there a script for this? Because if there is I'd love to see it."

His chin dropped to his chest. "I understand you've had a time, lass—"

"No," she said softly, "I'm not sure that you do." She ran a hand down her face. "I ran away from a man who hurt me in every possible way a man can hurt a woman. I came here to be safe. Now I've had fucking _brain_ surgery and I've stabbed two people and every loud noise makes me think there's another fucking bomb."

She threw her arm out toward the main shop. "Today I came in and was immediately attacked by this club's president—"

"He didn't attack you, Ollie, though I admit he probably should have used a different approach."

"Right. Let's all walk on eggshells around the crazy girl," she said scornfully.

He straightened, and when he spoke again his voice was sharp as the crack of a whip. "Olivia! We are all careful with you because we know what you've been through. None of us want you to feel threatened. Your husband was scum of the earth, and if it had been me I would've done quite a bit more than just shoot his cock off."

He sighed. "We're all on your side, lass," he said, his tone softening. "I understand it's been a rough few months, but what's happened in the last couple o' weeks to make it so much worse? Why are you avoiding us all?" He paused. "And why is Juicy lookin' like a kicked puppy who might bite at any second?"

That was the crux of it. Sure, they wanted to make sure she wasn't unstable enough to go to the cops or something, but really this was about Juice. If an old lady became a liability, she was done. Simple as that.

She crossed her arms over her chest and hunched her shoulders a little. She wasn't afraid of Chibs. She repeated that over and over in her head like a mantra, but still the spark of panic stirred in her breast. These were violent men, dangerous men, and while normally they would risk life and limb to protect a woman, there were times when unpleasant choices had to be made.

"Lass—" He reached for her, but she knocked his hand away and fell back against the counter behind her. She looked like she might go for her knife. He held the hand up, palm out. "I would never hurt you, Ollie girl. I've never raised a hand to a woman in anger, and I'm sure not about to start with you."

Suddenly his expression clouded. His mouth tightened and a dangerous glint came into his eyes. "Is that what's going on? Did that fucking Juice Ortiz—"

"Oh my God!" she said. "No, Chibs. Jesus Christ, no. He wouldn't—" She pressed shaking fingers to her forehead a moment, and when she met his look again her gaze was clear and steady. "I promise you it's not that."

"Aye," he said after a moment. "I believe you." He pushed his hands into his pockets, hoping to put her more at ease.

She studied him from the corner of her eye. "About Tara—"

"I'm a wee bit more skeptical on that one. Did you know? It stays between us."

She stood taller and squared her shoulders. She didn't trust him not to go to Jax with something so huge. It was basically his duty. "I didn't know, Chibs." A short pause. "But if I had, you can believe I would've tried to talk her out of it."

"Oh?"

"She's scared and desperate and she wants her kids safe. I understand that, and sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures. I'll never judge her. But I—" Her hand fluttered briefly toward her belly before she stopped and gripped the edge of the counter behind her. "There are lines. I didn't realize I had them before."

His keen look traveled up the length of her body. She had been looking…lush recently. Always curvy, in the past month or so she'd filled out further, and in ways that caused eyes to linger as she walked past. Now, though. He frowned. The skin was tight across the bones of her face, and while it didn't seem she'd lost a significant amount of weight, she still looked wasted, somehow. Almost frail.

She had been sick, he knew, so he supposed that could account for it. But she'd said it was a fairly minor infection, and she'd been back at work over a week. She'd been moody. Tired. Ill.

His head tilted.

"Olivia," he said, "are you pregnant?"

Her eyes went wide and they filled with tears. Her chin dropped. She was silent for so long he thought she wouldn't answer, but then, like a dam breaking: "Not anymore," she whispered.

"Oh, lass," he murmured. He reached for her again, and this time when she tried to swat him away he wouldn't let her. He pulled her to him and her fingers gripped his cut. "It's all right, girl. It's all right. Sometimes these things happen. You and Juicy can try again—"

"No," she said. "No, we can't. And you don't understand. I didn't _lose_ it, Chibs—though the doctor said I would. I couldn't go through that again. It would've killed me, I swear to God."

Appalled, he cupped her face in his hands and stared at her. Despite his violent lifestyle, Chibs was a staunch Catholic, and there were certain things he held sacred. But this was Ollie, and she was clearly hurting, so he tried to put aside his own feelings and focus on her.

"What do you mean, _again_?"

She told him everything: about TJ. The miscarriages. The surgery. She explained what Dr. Martinez had said about this pregnancy and how long the odds were. She didn't gloss over what TJ had done, didn't spare him some of the nastier details, and by the time she was through he looked shaken and stunned, and his mouth was a hard line across his face.

"Jesus, girl," he said. He brushed a hand over her hair. "I'm guessing Juicy didn't take any of this too well, and that's why things have been so rocky."

"Ahh…" She looked away and bit her lip.

He gripped her chin and lifted it to face him again. "You haven't told him," he said. "Olivia Jameson Gable, what are you thinkin', girl? That boy loves you. You've saved him. And now—"

She jerked away. "I'm not trying to be anyone's savior, Chibs. I can barely keep myself together. How am I supposed to do that for Juice, too?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "Darlin', I think you know as well as I that sometimes it's easier to keep someone _else_ afloat. You're a mess, lass, and no mistake, but the two of you are better together than apart. You need to tell him."

"It's been two weeks. I can't—"

"Ollie. Listen to me. This isn't a suggestion." He stepped closer and glared down his nose at her. "Either you tell him, or I will. Understood?"

She paled. "You can't—you've got no right—"

"And _you've_ got no right to keep it from him!" He spun away and scraped a hand down his face. "You did what you thought you had to do, lass, and while I may not agree with it, I do understand. But now you've got to make things right with Juicy. He's my brother, and I'll not see him suffering because you're too much a coward—"

"I am fucking well _not_—"

"Too much a _coward_," he cried, turning on her, "to tell him the truth!"

She bent her head, and when she spoke her voice was a low rasp. "How much do you think he'll suffer if I _do_ tell him?"

"It's always better to know. Always." He lifted a hand. "At least then he'd understand what's going on with you. He might even be able to help."

Her jaw tightened. "I don't think there's any help for it."

"Aye. There she is: the Olivia from back in the day. The girl who wouldn't take an offered sip of water if she were dyin' in the desert. More stubbornness than sense, and more fear than anything else."

"Of course I'm afraid! This life is poison. It destroys everything. Look at what it drove Tara to do! Look at what happened to Opie!"

"I was there, lass. I know what happened to Opie better than you ever could."

She had forgotten that part. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean—" She broke off and shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to explain to me about this life. I've lost my Fiona and Kerrianne because of it."

"Is it worth it? Honestly, Chibs. No bullshit, no swagger, just real talk. Is all of this violence and death worth losing the people you love?"

He sighed and leaned on the table. His face was haggard, his eyes hooded. "I don't know, lass. I ask myself that sometimes. But I had the chance to give it up, and I stayed. I've been in it for well on twenty years, since I was just a lad and full of piss and wind. How do I change now?"

Her lips twisted. "You make it sound so inevitable."

"It's been a rough time since you've been here. You know it's not normally like this."

"It just seems like—it seems like it never ends. Violence begets violence, revenge begets revenge, and as soon as you think you're clear of one thing, something else comes around to bite you in the ass."

"For those of us who are in it, truly _in_ it, we understand how rough it can be. It's part of the price for brotherhood. For family. For having a place to belong. You're part of this family, Ollie girl. It's part of you. You don't have to struggle through alone."

"I feel like we keep having the same conversation, Chibs." She sounded tired and sad.

"Stubborn. Like I said. Must be the Scottish in you."

"Aye," she said, drawing the syllable out in an exaggerated imitation of his accent. He huffed out a laugh and she even managed a smile; a real one this time, that brought out the dimple in her chin.

He took her by the arms and fixed her with a long, steady look. "I don't want to betray your trust, lass, but I meant what I said. You need to tell Juice what happened, and you need to do it soon. It'll only get worse the longer you wait. You tell him," he said, his eyes hard and grave, "or I will. Your choice. I think we both know who he'd rather hear it from."

"It'll be over, Chibs. I'll lose him."

"You're losing him _now_, foolish girl. Some secrets are like wounds: you can try to cover them over, but underneath they fester and rot. He _will_ find out one day, even if I _weren't_ to tell him. And in the meantime you can hardly bear to look at him for the guilt!" He shook her once, gently. "Have a little faith in the boy, lass. You're the one who always claims he's made of sterner stuff than he seems."

She shrugged out of his grip. "You're right," she said after a long quiet moment. "I don't like it, but you're right."

"So you'll talk to him then?"

She looked up at him, and her expression was so wretched it tore at his heart. He steeled himself and glowered.

"Yeah, Chibby. I'll talk to him. Could you just—could you give me a day or two? I need to figure out…" She trailed off with a helpless shrug.

"Aye," he said. "I'll give you till the end of the week. If not done by then, I'll do it. Clear?"

"Crystal," she said, quietly.

He studied her a moment longer before he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "You're a trial to me, Ollie girl. A damn chapter from the Book of Job, you are."

"At least I don't come with boils."

"Small blessings," he said with a quirk of his mouth. He cast a glance over his shoulder and frowned at the scatter of parts on the table. "I should let you get back to work."

"I'm planning it to be a sort of—peace offering, I guess."

"Aye. I see that now." He patted her cheek and offered a reassuring smile. "The lad loves you, lass. I know that's hard for you to trust, but try."

"I'm working on it."

He supposed that would have to do. She was like an alcoholic who'd had a setback on the road to recovery: in many ways she was starting from scratch, and all the trust she'd built over the years had to be put back together again, piece by piece. She was up to the task if she would just do it. He hoped his faith in Juice was well-placed; if the boy turned on her, she would be gone, consequences be damned.

He shook his head and ambled toward the door, and when he opened it Chucky was on the other side with his hand raised to knock.

"Hi, Chibs," he said. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Nope. On me way out." He left the door open as he went, and Chucky peeked inside.

"Hey, Ollie," he said.

She smiled. "Hey, Chucky. What's up?"

"I just thought you might want your mail." He held up an envelope. Her heart sank.

"Thanks," she said. "Just leave it there."

He dropped it where she indicated and gave her a curious look. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but instead he shut his mouth, nodded, and walked out.

She tried to ignore the small white envelope, but it seemed to mock her from across the room. She didn't want to open it. She had an idea of what was inside, and she had plenty to deal with without worrying about that, too.

She worked for twenty minutes or so without making much progress. Finally she gave in with a hard sigh and yanked it off the table. The postmark was from Las Cruces, her stop before she came to Charming. That was…ominous.

She ripped it open, but this time she caught the postcard before it fell. A picture of Stone Mountain, a tourist attraction just outside of Atlanta. She flipped it over.

_Can't wait to see you again, my sweet strawberry. xoxo_

Olivia shuddered and balled the card up in her fist. "Fuck you, Teddy Flanary," she whispered in a voice full of loathing. "You want me then come and get me. I'm done running from you."

* * *

_So. I just wanted to take a moment to address a point brought up several times about last chapter: I ABSOLUTELY agree that Olivia should have told Juice. I mean, no question. Her body, her choice, but people in serious, trusting relationships discuss things with each other and sure as hell don't keep such major secrets._

_Having said that...well. Olivia's worked hard to overcome her natural instincts and put her trust in Juice, but once she decided not to tell him about Teddy's first postcard it was like...Chibs made the metaphor here: a recovering alcoholic taking her first drink after having been on the wagon awhile. After that, each drink that follows is easier and easier. Once she decided to keep one major secret, keeping the next one wasn't as hard and was almost knee jerk. The consequences of her decision will play out over the next several chapters AND the speed of events will pick up, as well._

_In other news, dear readers, a review will get you cookies from Gemma and a biker to enjoy them with. :D_


	40. Goodbye

I created a playlist called "Sad Songs" that I've been listening to as I wrote this. I MIGHT have gone overboard on the sheer number and sadness of said songs.

Events in s6 are clipping right along now: we're up to 6x11.

* * *

**it may be over but it won't stop there**  
**i am here for you if you'd only care**  
**you touched my heart, you touched my soul**  
**you changed my life and all my goals**  
**and love is blind and that i knew when**  
**my heart was blinded by you**  
**i've kissed your lips and held your hand**  
**shared your dreams and shared your bed**  
**i know you well, i know your smell**  
**i've been addicted to you**  
James Blunt, "Goodbye My Lover"

The next night she pulled the Cougar to a stop in front of Juice's house and cut the engine. His new bike was in the driveway. She hadn't tried calling first, so she was relieved to see it—and to see that it was alone, though that didn't necessarily tell her anything. Not that she thought—

She cut that off half-formed. Better not to think about it either way.

She boosted herself up onto the trailer and unfastened the chains holding the old bike in place. She walked it down the ramp and parked it next to the new one. It looked good. Not as fancy, but she'd upped the horsepower and the torque, and she'd redone the Reaper design on the front panel.

She cast a look toward the front door. Part of her wanted to turn around, get in her car, and drive back to TM. Or home. Or…anywhere, really. Anywhere but here.

But she'd made a promise to Chibs, and besides that she owed it to Juice to tell him the truth. They couldn't just leave things in this agonizing state of limbo. They'd barely spoken in the last week. Was it killing him as much as it was killing her? Yesterday Chibs had seemed to imply that it was.

Better to rip the band-aid off. Better to get it over with and have things done.

She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and rang the bell.

There was a long silence from inside. So long, in fact, that she began to wonder if he'd left his bike here and gone off somewhere else. Then the door opened and there he was. His face transformed from a sort of resigned despair to disbelieving joy before it settled on cautious hope.

"Liv," he said. His voice was rough. She could tell he'd been drinking. There were new bruises around one eye, apparently from some incident the other day with the Byz Lats. She hadn't asked for details.

"Hey," she said. She tried for a smile and couldn't make it happen. Her forehead scrunched and she slid her hands into her pockets. "I, um. I got your bike put back together." She jerked her chin in that direction. "Thought I'd bring it by."

He leaned out to get a look. "You didn't have to do that," he said.

"No, I know. I just—I wanted to see you."

"Oh."

There was a groove between her brows, and the need to soothe it with his fingertips was so strong he had to ball his hand into a fist and shove it behind his back. Her lips were chapped (probably from her chewing on them, like she did when she was nervous or worried), and he knew exactly how they'd feel beneath his.

He took an abrupt step back and thrust his arm out. "Come in. If you want."

She eyed him, but after a moment she nodded and slipped past him.

He lowered his head to get a whiff of her hair as she went by. He could smell her sea-scented shampoo and clean laundry and, just a hint, motor oil and metal. The garage. Memories hit him like a fist to the gut and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the images.

When he opened them again she was in his living room giving him a curious look. He closed the door and started toward the kitchen. "Can I get you something? A beer?"

"No thanks," she said. "I'm good."

They stood awkwardly, neither sure what to say. She wanted to tell him everything, pour the entire story out and just let him react as he would—but she couldn't. Her tongue felt cleaved to the roof of her mouth. Maybe Chibs was right. Maybe she was a coward.

"Juice—" she said.

"Liv—" he said at the same time.

They both broke off and laughed a little. She hooked her fingers in her back pockets. She was, he knew, trying not to fidget. It was working, for the most part, but he knew her well enough to see the fear she struggled to hide. He wanted to reassure her, to remind her again that nothing could change how he felt about her, but suddenly part of him wasn't sure.

He would never stop loving her, he knew that, but…maybe it wasn't quite that simple.

His mouth tightened and he turned his head. The muscles in his jaw danced under the skin. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but none of them were right. All of them were about how much he wanted her. How he couldn't imagine his life without her in it. How whatever it was they could figure it out. They could figure anything out as long as they were together. But the words stuck in his throat and he choked on them.

The sight of his tears was her undoing. She let out a soft curse. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry."

She rushed to the door, but his voice stopped her before she could get away: "I know about the abortion."

She spun toward him, her eyes huge. There were two bright spots of color high on her cheeks, but otherwise her face was pale as death. "Who—?"

"No one told me," he said. "I Googled some shit and figured it out. It all fits."

She pressed against the door, and her hand gripped the knob so hard it creaked. "Juice, I—"

He took a step closer and she shrank back. "Don't look at me like that, Olivia."

"Like what?" she whispered through lips gone numb.

"Like you think I'm gonna attack you. I'm not him. I'd never—" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'd never do that to you."

She eased her fingers away from the doorknob. "I know you wouldn't," she said, but her tone was careful, like she didn't want to provoke him.

He took several steps back and lifted his hands. "Givin' you room, Liv. You gonna run or stay?"

"I want to run," she admitted.

"I know you do."

She shuffled forward a few paces and clenched her hands into fists to hide their shaking. "I should have told you," she said, quietly.

He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. His throat worked and a tear tracked down his cheek. "I don't understand. Did you think I would—what did you think—I wouldn't have—" He gulped down a breath.

"How long?" he finally managed.

"Six weeks. That, um. That time in the hospital, I'm thinking."

"Holy shit." He scrubbed at his face with his hands and winced when he hit the bruises. "It was just—it was just a little pea."

Her head tilted. "You did do your research."

He shoved that aside with a frustrated gesture. "I wouldn't have tried to talk you out of it if it's what you really wanted, Olivia."

"That wasn't why I didn't call you."

"Then why?" he demanded. "I thought we were in this together. You and me, remember?"

"I know." She dropped her head. When she looked up again her eyes were wet, her nose red. "I know, Juice. I'm not going to give you excuses. I was wrong, and I don't know what else to say." Apologies were meaningless, and all the _I'm sorry_s in the world wouldn't fix anything.

He paced away. Back again. He was close enough to touch her, but he kept his hands by his sides. "I can't stop thinking about that night, Liv. The way you cried. I wanted to help you, but I didn't even know what was wrong. I don't understand how you _still_ don't trust me. What else do I have to do, Olivia? How can I possibly prove how I feel about you?"

"It's not like that. It wasn't even about you."

His face twisted. "Your decision to kill _my_ child wasn't about _me_?"

Anger flared, hot and sharp. "Okay, first of all, it wasn't a _child_. It was a bundle of cells that was, like you said, about the size of a pea. Secondly, until _you're_ the one carrying it, until _you're_ the one—" She broke off and spun around. She muffled a sob in her hands.

"Olivia—" he murmured

"Don't," she said, her voice broken and choked. "Don't be _kind_, Juice."

"Then tell me what I should be, Liv. If I get pissed you look at me like a fuckin' wife beater. If I get sad you tell me I don't have the right. If I try to be nice, you say not to. How should I feel right now? I sure as fuck can't figure it out!"

She twisted back toward him. "I never said you didn't have the _right_ to be sad, but how can you be sad about something that never existed?"

"You are," he said, mildly.

That seemed to deflate her. She dropped down into a chair like her strings had been cut. "I know," she said. Her eyes were blank, her gaze far away. "I don't know why. I didn't even know it was in there, and when I figured it out I panicked. I never wanted a baby, and especially not _now_. Not _here_."

"I know that, Liv. I _do_. I would've gone along with whatever you wanted to do. That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

Her head tilted in his direction. "You just accused me of _killing_ your _child_," she spat.

"That was a stupid thing to say. I didn't mean it."

"Part of you did," she said. "Part of you always will."

"For fuck's sake, Olivia, quit thinkin' I'm gonna be an asshole about this! I'm not mad about the abortion. I swear I'm not. And I'm not really even _mad_ that you didn't tell me about it."

"What are you then?"

He slumped in the chair across from her and dropped his head into his hands. "I don't know," he said without looking up. "A lot of things. What are _you_?"

Her brow furrowed. She brushed at her eyes. "A lot of things," she said.

He lifted his head and fixed her with a desperate, longing look. "I don't want to lose you, Olivia."

"I don't want to be lost."

"Then come back, baby," he said. "Please just come back."

Her mouth moved in a grim, tired smile. "It's not that easy, Juicy. I wish it were, but it just isn't." She pushed herself to her feet and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

His eyes followed her to the door. She opened it and paused. "If you want to come by the house for your stuff, I'm working all week till six or seven." She cast a look over her shoulder. "You can keep your key. I mean. I'd like you to keep your key. It you want to."

He didn't say anything. His face was contorted with pain and he didn't bother to wipe away the tears as they fell. Her chin quivered. That was the last glimpse he had of her face before the door shut hard behind her. After a few moments he heard the sound of the Cougar's engine outside.

It faded down the block and all was silence.

* * *

The next day was THE day—the big jailbreak. Jax had sent the cops off to sit on an empty warehouse while the club went after Clay. Juice hadn't been looking forward to today anyway, but after the vote yesterday…and his conversation with Olivia last night…the whole thing felt like a giant weight around his neck dragging him under.

He and Jax were in the same van, and as they waited for word to move, Juice felt the need to reassure him that he was steady, no matter how he might feel otherwise. Jax assured him that he was moving the club in the right direction and that they could all feel, as Juice phrased it, like "good guys" again.

A short silence fell before Jax said, "How's Ollie been?"

Juice stirred and cut his eyes across the van. "Fine, I guess."

Jax gave him an odd look. "You guess?"

He frowned and looked away. Adjusted the fit of his vest and ran a hand over his scalp. "We're going through…a sort of rough patch, I guess."

"Hum," Jax said. That might explain her strange behavior yesterday (and the past few weeks according to the other guys), but he had his doubts. She didn't seem like the woman who'd fall apart over a break up, and he suspected that whatever had her in such a weird mood was actually the cause of the _rough patch_, not vice versa. "Think it'll work out?"

He hitched a shoulder. "Don't know." His mouth tightened. "Maybe not."

"That fuckin' sucks, brother. I'm sorry."

Juice's chin tilted in his direction. "You think you're gonna be able to work things out with Tara?"

Now it was Jax' turn to go quiet. His jaw muscles bunched and stretched. Finally, "I hope so. I want to. I don't know if she does."

"She's scared," Juice said, "like Olivia."

Jax fixed him with a shrewd look. "Is Olivia worth fightin' for?"

"Yeah," Juice said without hesitation. "Yeah, of course she is."

"And you're gonna just let her go?"

"It's not…it's kinda complicated."

He snorted. "And Tara and me _aren't_? Look, Juicy, it's simple: either she's worth it or she's not. If she's not, you let her go. If she is—you fuckin' well fight, brother. You gotta at least let her know you still want her."

Part of him wanted to tell Jax more, get his take on the situation, but considering how unstable the club already thought he was—and the fact that it might be a sensitive issue, all things considered—he didn't want to push it. Instead he just smiled a little. "I think I need to give her some time first."

Jax shifted in his seat. "You think she knew what Tara was up to?"

Juice's brows drew together. "You mean the fake miscarriage and everything?"

"Yep," he said, shortly.

"What did she say when you asked her?"

"Said she had no idea."

"There's your answer, then."

A pause.

Jax: "You don't think she'd lie about it?"

"I don't know. Maybe." He shook his head. "She's loyal, Jax."

"I get that, Juicy. I just don't know who she's loyal _to_."

_Herself_, he thought.

Unfair, only partially true, and an answer that was sure to get her killed. He clamped his lips shut and decided he'd already said enough.

* * *

By the time they got to the hangar Olivia was already there. Jax had called her from the road when he realized Bobby was hit, and then he'd called Gemma to get Tara. He wasn't sure how bad it was, but he'd rather have too many medics than not enough.

The truck screeched to a halt and the back doors flew open. Olivia rushed toward them, but she stopped short when she saw Clay. Chibs stuck his head out and waved her over.

"Get in here, lass. He looks like shite."

He reached down to help her in. She tugged on a pair of gloves and knelt by Bobby. His big face was pale under all that beard, and Chibs' makeshift bandage was already soaked through. First she had to get his vest off; it was blocking her view.

She pulled her knife and flicked the blade open.

"Whoa," Chibs said, "you gonna cut the bullet out?"

She ignored him and sawed through the thick material. She sliced his shirt open and cursed. "You've called Tara, right?" she said.

"Yeah," came a voice from behind her. It was Jax. "Gemma's on the way to pick her up now. How bad is it?"

She flashed Bobby a reassuring smile. "He'll be shakin' his hips again in no time." She gestured Chibs closer and swapped places with him. Grabbed Jax by the sleeve and pulled him a few steps away.

"This is way above my pay grade, Jax. I'm afraid to even touch anything. He could bleed out. We need Tara, and she's going to need surgical shit. Scalpel, tweezers, I don't know what all."

His expression was grave. "Try to get the bleeding under control and do the best you can. She'll be here soon and we'll take him up to the cabin." He pressed a hand to her shoulder. "I've got faith in you, Ollie."

That was a new one. She nodded and spun back toward Bobby. Jax jerked his chin at Chibs.

"Sorry, lass," he said. "Duty calls."

"Go," she said. "I've got this."

He and Jax jumped off the back of the truck and disappeared into the depths of the hangar. Bobby's head lolled toward her.

"You think I'm gonna die?" he said.

"Fuck no. Would I let you die?"

"You ain't no doctor."

"True. But I'm stubborn enough to make up for it."

He snorted. "That's the fuckin' truth."

She grinned, but it faded quickly. "Are you cold?" she said.

"Yeah. Kinda. Pretty cold."

"Okay. I've got a blanket in my car." She cursed herself for not bringing it. She tied the bandage on tighter. "I'll be back in five seconds."

He managed a vague nod. She hopped down and stumbled as her weak hip caught. Righted herself and ran to the Cougar. She was halfway back when Gemma's SUV pulled in and Tara tumbled out.

She took note of the blood on Olivia's shirt. "Where is he?"

"Back here. He's going into shock and I'm having trouble stopping the bleeding. I can't find an exit wound, so I think it's still in there."

Tara boosted herself into the truck and helped Olivia in with her.

"Where's everyone else?"

She tilted her head toward the hangar office. "Not sure what's goin' down. Club shit, I guess."

Gemma and Nero were still in the hangar. Tara bent over Bobby and smiled.

"Hey, bud," she said.

He grunted.

Olivia spread the blanket over him. Her fingers went to his wrist. His pulse was thready and fast. She frowned up at Tara, who only nodded. Her face turned grave as she probed the wound.

"I've got to get that bullet out, but no way I can do it here. I'll need tools from the hospital. Pain meds. Sutures."

"That's what I told Jax. He said we can get him up to the cabin." She paused. "I think they need to finish whatever it is they're doing first."

"We have to move fast," Tara said.

Bobby shook his head, a glacial roll back and forth. "Nuh. Gotta get it done. Then we'll go."

"Goddammit," Olivia muttered. "All this fucking blood."

"Press here," Tara said and pointed to the a spot on the inside of his arm. "Press hard."

She did what Tara showed her, and finally the bleeding eased. Tara wrapped gauze under his armpit and around several times to hold the bandage in place.

The sound of muffled gunshots startled them both. Their eyes met.

"Go on," Bobby said. "Not gonna die just yet."

They both scowled at him, but after a moment they went. The office door was open. Clay said something to Gemma that they couldn't hear. Nero glowered and Jax tried to reassure him. Olivia flicked her eyes toward Juice. His face was blank, his eyes empty. She knew that look. It worried her.

The guys took Clay back into the office. The four of them—Gemma, Nero, Tara, Olivia—watched in horror and shock as Jax raised his gun and shot Clay in the neck. Gemma let out a sob. Tears poured down her face as Clay stumbled and fell. Olivia pressed a hand to her mouth and turned away.

The taste of Bobby's blood would linger on her lips for hours after.

They must have voted for Mayhem. _Juice_ had voted for it—again—after everything. No wonder. She rubbed the center of her chest, but the ache there went too deep.

When it was over, Jax instructed Gemma to take Tara to the hospital to pick up what she needed and then bring her to the cabin. Olivia offered to ride in the truck with Bobby, and Jax acquiesced with a nod.

She cast a worried glance at the Cougar. "I probably shouldn't leave my car here."

"You be okay with Rat driving it to the cabin?"

She frowned. Rat looked nervous. She stripped off a bloody glove and fished her keys out of her pocket. "Do not smoke in my car. Do not eat. Do not drink. If there's a scratch on him when I get him back, I take it out of your skin. Yeah?"

He gave a stuttering nod. "I'll take care of it like it was my bike, Ollie. Swear."

She dropped the keys in his outstretched hand and smiled at him. "I know you will, Rat."

He managed a sickly smile of his own and took off across the hangar.

Jax sent Juice and Tig with them in the van. Juice jumped in first, and when he offered his hand to her he wouldn't meet her eyes. She gave his fingers an extra squeeze before she let go, and she felt him briefly return the pressure. But when he turned away she wondered if she hadn't imagined it.

She settled in next to Bobby and tucked the blanket around him.

"Wanna lay down," he said.

"Nope. Have to keep you upright. You don't want to start bleeding all over again, do you?"

He snorted. Then, "Thirsty."

"Sorry, bud. No water until we get that bullet out. Trust me; you don't want it comin' right back up."

"Fuckin' bossy."

"Mmhhmm," she said, distracted. It was a long drive; almost two hours; and she was worried.

Tig craned his neck to look back at them, and he could read it on her face. He poked Juice on the arm and hitched his thumb over his shoulder. Juice nodded.

"Hey, Ollie," Tig said as he swung around to sit on Bobby's other side. "How's it goin'?"

"Bobby's bein' a whiny bitch, but otherwise real good."

"Fuck you, Ollie," he muttered. "Bet you'd whine if you'd just got shot."

"I was shot, Bobby. I don't think I whined once."

She and Tig locked eyes over his head. "Anything I can do?" Tig said.

"Hold him still. Don't let him lie down. Keep the blanket tight, no gaps. You still cold, Bobby?"

He managed a nod.

"Wrap your jacket around him."

In the driver's seat Juice shrugged out of his hoodie. "Here," he said and tossed it back.

She balled it up and put it behind Bobby's head as Tig followed her instructions. "Better?" she said.

"Little."

"We need to keep him awake, Tiggy. Talk to him. Don't let him fall asleep."

Juice couldn't risk speeding, not with Bobby bloody in the back and the possibility that they (or Juice, specifically) might be wanted for running that cop down during the raid. The miles passed with agonizing slowness, and they filled the time swapping stories, telling jokes (Tig's were almost _unbelievably_ dirty), and debating the finer points of Texas Hold 'Em. Every time Bobby started to nod off either she or Tig would force him awake and they'd embark on a new topic.

It was the longest ride of Olivia's life, and by the time it was over she was shaking and exhausted. Juice and Tig got Bobby inside and wrestled him into bed. She slumped against the doorjamb and watched them, calling out the occasional instruction or caution. When they finally had him settled she checked his bandage, added another pillow behind his back, and squeezed his hand.

He blinked at her, the closest thing to a nod he could manage.

"Ollie," Tig said.

She jerked her head toward him.

"Go get cleaned up. Take a minute. We got this."

"I can't. I have to—"

"Ollie." He touched her arm, just a brief flick of his fingers. "We got this. Right, Juicy?"

"Yeah," he said. He even dredged up a smile for her. "We got it."

"You did good, Ollie," Tig said. "You did real good. Take a break before you fall over."

Her brow furrowed, but after a moment she stripped off the gloves, rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, and walked out. She didn't say a word, but her eloquent expression spoke volumes.

Juice thought today might've been the last straw for her, and he wondered how much longer she'd be able to stick it out in Charming.

* * *

_When I published Thursday I forgot to mention I'm out of town this weekend (hence no chapter yesterday). I wrote this Thursday night/last night, and I'm going to write a bit now, but I probably won't publish tomorrow. Hopefully Monday._

_In the meantime, reviews get Juice one puppy of his very own to hug. And y'all know he needs it._


	41. Shattered

Still in the sad territories, loves, and as the end of s6 approaches I'm not sure it's gonna be letting up any time soon.

I'd love to hear from you guys! Ch42 is going to be intense, and I could use some encouragement. :)

* * *

**how many times can i break till i shatter?**  
**over the line, can't define what i'm after**  
**i always turn the car around**  
**give me a break; let me make my own pattern**  
**all that it takes is some time**  
**but i'm shattered**  
**i always turn the car around**  
O.A.R., "Shattered"

Tig glowered at him until Juice gave in and followed her. The living room was empty, but he could hear water running in the tiny half bath off the kitchen. He knocked, and a moment later she opened the door. Her eyes widened a little when she saw him, and they widened further when he pushed her in and closed the door behind him.

The space was barely big enough for the two of them. Her back was pressed against the sink and the back of his knees hit the toilet and they were still almost touching. Whenever either one of them moved they brushed against each other. He tried to keep still, because it was incredibly distracting and there were things he wanted to say to her. Like Tig, he'd noticed how wrecked she was over the shooting—but unlike Tig he knew the type of month she'd been having. He wanted to ask her…about a million things. He wanted to comfort her. After last night he had no idea how, or if she would even want him to.

"Are you okay?" he said. It was lame, but it was a start.

"Me?" She let out a disbelieving huff. "What about you?"

"I'm—"His forehead creased and his brows drew together. "I don't want to talk about it."

She lifted her hand but stopped just before she touched his face. "I'm so sorry, Juicy."

The tenderness in her tone made him wince. His eyes flicked away. "I didn't come in here to talk about me."

"I know you didn't. I still wanted to say it."

He took a deep breath and nodded, suddenly too overcome to speak. Of all people, she would understand how hard today had been for him. She would know what the vote had cost him. He wanted her comfort as much as he wanted to give her his, but that wasn't why he was here. Finally he said, "I just—I need to know, Olivia: are you gonna stay in Charming?"

She frowned a little. It wasn't what she'd been expecting. "Would you prefer it if I left?"

"No! I mean"—he pulled a face—"I mean, you need to do what you need to do, I just want—"

"What do you want, Ortiz?" she said, her voice soft. She wasn't sure what she hoped he'd say; maybe that he wanted _her_. She knew it, or at least she _had_ known it, but right now it would be nice to hear. Because maybe he didn't anymore. After what she'd done. After last night. After today.

He looked up with a brief, sweet smile. "I want you to be happy, Liv. It's all I've ever wanted."

Her mouth opened. She closed it again and swallowed hard. "Juice, listen, about last night…"

"You don't have to say anything, Liv. I get it. It was—it was a real nice dream, you know? But I guess that's all it was."

Whatever she'd been hoping for, that wasn't it. Her lips trembled, and when she spoke again her voice was thick. "It was, Juicy. Maybe the nicest dream I've ever had."

She swiped the heel of her hand against her cheek. "Is that why you cornered me in this bathroom?"

He studied her face. It was still damp from the water she'd splashed on it. Tendrils of hair clung to her temples and the side of her neck. He raised a tentative hand. She closed her tear-stained eyes. He tucked one of the wet strands behind her ear. His thumb rubbed across her lips and they parted on a soft gasp.

"Please," she whispered, her breath warm on his fingers. "Please, Juicy, I can't—"

"I know," he said. His mouth hovered over hers. "Hush, babe. I know."

Their lips met. He held the back of her neck with one hand. His other went around her waist. She gripped the edge of the sink with all ten fingers, so tight they started to go numb. He hauled her in closer and, with a quiet whimper, she grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt.

Their tongues brushed; his fingers stroked the soft skin of her neck; she could taste salt on his lips; he could feel everything she was too afraid to say. He mouthed the wetness from her cheeks. She trembled against him and he held her, his cheek resting against the top of her head and his hands warm and firm on her back.

"I don't want to go," she gasped as she cried.

"You don't have to. Charming's your home now."

She pushed away as far as she could, and her tear-streaked face was angry. "I don't give a fuck about _Charming_, Juice. Charming isn't home. _You_ are."

Hope surged through him and flared in his eyes. "Then don't go, Olivia. Please."

"I don't know how to stay," she admitted, her voice small and lost. She held her palms out like they were damaged, dirty things. "I feel so fucking—so _broken_. Damaged. Everything hurts and everything makes me angry and there's just so much _death_. All the time! It never ends."

He flinched. He took her hands in his and rubbed them. Raised them to his lips and kissed the center of each palm and the tip of each finger. "Let's go," he said between the kisses. "Right now. We'll get in your car and just never look back. There's nothing left for me here. Clay—" He broke off. He couldn't talk about that yet.

"I'm so tired of running," she said.

"Okay. I'll do it the right way, then: I'll take it to the table. They'll let me out. I'll turn in my cut and black out my ink and—babe, don't look at me like that."

"It's just not that simple, Juice. Not anymore. I fucked everything up, and I'm not sure I can be who you need."

"_You're_ who I need. Just you. You don't have to _be_ anything, and you sure as hell didn't fuck anything up."

They both heard the sound of a car crunching across the gravel outside. "That's probably Tara," she said. She pulled her hands from his grasp. "I need to go help her."

She reached for the door and he tugged her back. "Just promise me you'll think about it, Olivia. Can you do that much?"

She bit her lip. Her eyes traced the lines of his face. Love was like a hot coal against her heart, agonizing and comforting at the same time. She'd meant it when she'd told him all those weeks ago that she needed him. Oh, she could go on without him. She could re-make her life without him in it…but she knew it would never be the same, and she'd never feel again the way she did when she looked at him.

Was that a bad thing—or a good one?

Finally she gave a jerky nod. "I promise. Just—just give me some time, okay?"

"Yeah." He brushed his thumb along the curve of her cheek. "I can do that." He kissed her again, warm and sweet. "I love you, Olivia."

"I know, Juicy," she murmured against his mouth. "I love you too."

That much, at least, she could say with absolute confidence.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Tara ducked into the bedroom to check Bobby's stitches. Olivia had done them before she left, and they were perfect. Almost better than Tara's. Olivia was a good hand at suturing, and steady in a crisis. Tara wished she'd had more time to teach her the medical side of things. The club would need a medic more experienced than Olivia and less ham-handed (Lord bless him) than Chibs, and Tara wouldn't be around much longer.

Well. On second thought, if she really went through with the deal then the club wouldn't need a medic at all. The bullet seemed to burn in her pocket, and she imagined she could feel it against her skin.

Jax had thanked her when she spoke to him. She could barely meet his eyes. She didn't know if she were doing the right thing, but she did know she had no choice. She had loved Jax once—still did, if she were being completely honest—but it wasn't enough. His promises rang false to her, empty, and she was so goddamn tired.

In desperation she fled to the porch, and it was only when he made a noise she realized she wasn't alone. She saw the light gleam briefly off his scalp and recognition clicked.

"Christ, Juice, you scared me."

"Sorry," he said and stepped out of the shadows. "I just needed some air."

"Yeah. It was getting close in there." She paused a moment and studied him. She knew he and Clay had been close, and she couldn't imagine what it must be like to vote for somebody's death. "How are you? After—after today, I mean?"

He shrugged a shoulder and looked away, out to the yard that stretched wide to the tree line. "I don't know," he said. "It's kind of a lot to process."

He didn't mention the fact that, in addition to Clay's death and Bobby's injury, he'd killed a cop. He fucking hated killing. Every time he looked down and saw that Men of Mayhem patch he wanted to rip it off his cut and put it down the fucking garbage disposal or something. It made him feel weak—even though, at the same time, he could hear Olivia's voice in his head telling him it made him _human_, and there was nothing the fuck wrong with that.

His mouth quirked at how clearly he could hear the words. Then the smile faded and he tilted his head toward Tara. "Can I ask you something?" he said.

"More doctor stuff?"

"No. This's personal."

Something about his tone made her wary, but after a moment she nodded. "Go ahead."

"It's about Olivia."

"Hhm." She paused. "Juice, Ollie's my friend. I'm not going to betray—"

"No, Tara, I know. She told me. I mean, she sort of told me. About the abortion. And I just—I want to know if she was alone. Was she—was she alone?" His voice cracked on the last word and he ducked his head.

She touched his shoulder. "No, Juice. I was with her. She wasn't alone."

He nodded and drew in a long, shuddering breath. "She assumes I'm pissed at her, but I'm not. I just wish I'd been there. Maybe if we'd talked about it we could've figured something else out. I wouldn't want her to keep it if she didn't want to, but if she did it _at all_ because she thought _I_ didn't want it—" He broke off and scrubbed a hand down his face.

Tara shifted her weight and her face scrunched. "Juice—did she tell you why?"

He looked up and blinked. "She just said she never planned to have kids, which I knew already. She told me she had her tubes tied, and I know she was young when she did it, but she's always said she never regretted it. She doesn't want a kid in this life, or I guess while she's still looking out for Doyle."

Her mouth twisted sardonically. "Common sentiment." She hesitated a moment. Then, "She didn't tell you what the doctor said?"

"The doctor? She didn't say anything about a doctor."

"Shit." Tara pressed her fingertips against her brow. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but she's apparently too damn stubborn to do it herself, so here goes." She took Juice's hand and pulled him down to sit in the chair next to her.

"You know about her previous miscarriages, right?"

"Her husband caused them," he said with a scowl.

"Right. Apparently the circumstances—the violence, I mean—caused damage to her uterus. Scarring. The embryo hadn't attached to the uterine wall, and the doctor was afraid if it hadn't already, it wasn't going to."

His frown deepened as he did a mental review of all the information he'd absorbed during his web trawling. "There's no way it could survive like that," he said.

"Exactly. And if it _did_ attach, it was going to be a very at-risk pregnancy. Considering what this life can be like—and what it's been like for Ollie the past several months—Dr. Martinez was extremely doubtful Olivia could carry to term."

He fell back, eyes wide and mouth open. "I don't understand," he said. "Why didn't she tell me any of this?"

"I don't know, Juice. I think—I honestly think she was ready to keep it until she heard what Dr. Martinez had to say. I don't think she could've stood losing a baby she actually _wanted_. A baby that she…that she could love."

Tara ducked her head. Shame was like the sting of a thousand needles. She hated what she'd done to Jax. She even hated what she'd done to Gemma. She pushed the feeling aside and focused on her children: Abel and Thomas were who mattered now. She shifted in her seat and felt the bullet dig into her thigh even through its swaddling. Or maybe that was only in her head.

He slumped forward and buried his head in his hands. Tara rested a hand on his back. "She's hurting a lot right now, Juice. She begged me not to tell you, and I promised her I wouldn't. I think she didn't want you to know because the whole thing made her feel—"

"Damaged," he interrupted in a hollow voice. Her words from the bathroom echoed in his mind, and now he understood them in a whole new way. He remembered what he'd said last night about her killing _his_ baby. He hadn't meant it, not really, but in light of everything he knew now, the memory made him want to beat his head against the wall.

What a fucking shithead. He _knew_ her. He knew how stubborn she was. He knew how she felt about him—or he thought he had. Apparently _he_ was the one without any faith. He'd lost faith in her when she needed him the most. No wonder she'd drifted. No wonder he'd lost her. Hell, he'd practically thrown her away.

"I should've known," he said in a strangled voice.

"No, Juice, how could you? You're not psychic."

He waved that away. "I know her. She's stubborn and she can be hard, but when she decides on something, she fucking well _decides_. I shoulda known she wouldn't do it unless something was wrong."

Tara couldn't think of anything to say to that. She thought he was being too hard on himself, but maybe he was right. Maybe he _should_ have known. She couldn't help but think that there was a great deal these men missed because of their single-minded focus on the club. It wasn't possible to be completely devoted to two things at once, and most of them chose MC family over actual family. It's why so many of them were divorced.

"Maybe I shouldn't have told you," she said with a sigh.

"I'm glad you did." He ducked his head and swallowed back tears. "She's just…it's like part of her's gone. Or buried so deep it might as well be gone. She's back to the way she was at the beginning, only about ten times worse. She acted like I was gonna attack her last night, and we were just talking.

"She probably never woulda told me. I let her walk out. I knew I shouldn't, but I was so pissed. The way she shuts down—the way she won't let anyone in—I thought we were passed all that. I thought she trusted me."

"I don't think it's about trust."

"Yeah. I guess I get that."

"Have you talked to her since?"

He jerked his chin toward the cabin. "Earlier. Before you got here. She asked me to give her time."

"Will you?"

He rubbed the heel of his hand against a spot of blood on his pants. "I told her I would."

"That's not what I asked," Tara said, shrewdly.

"She won't come to me with this, Tara. I gotta talk to her."

"She asked for time, Juice. Give it to her.

He scowled down at the blood stain, but at last he gave a short nod. "Yeah. I'll do whatever she needs."

Tara smiled at him, but before she could say anything Rat poked his head out the door. "Bobby's awake," she said. "You wanna—?"

"Sure," she said. She rose and gestured for Juice to come with her. "Come on. You should see him too."

"Me?" he said, confused. "Why me?"

"You helped save his life, Juice. He'll probably want to say thanks, don't you think?"

* * *

_Go home and fuck Ollie_, Bobby had said. _You're makin' everybody nervous. Especially me._

If only it were that easy. He'd love to go home to Olivia. Sex didn't even have anything to do with it. He just wanted to hear her voice. Make her laugh. Smell her hair and feel her smooth skin beneath his hands. Taste her mouth and—

Well. Maybe sex had a little to do with it.

He scrubbed both hands over his scalp and tried her number again. Still no answer. He could just show up. Except she'd asked him for time, and he wanted to follow Tara's advice. He tucked his phone away and put on his helmet.

He made it twenty or so miles before he pulled over and called her a third time. Maybe she was in the bath. She kept her phone with her in the bathroom these days—ever since the attack—but if she had her earbuds in or the ringer turned off or both…

He sat on the side of the road straddling his bike (the old one; he loved the improvements she'd made on it) and pressed his hands against his head. He needed her. He'd tried the entire day not to think about Clay, but now it was catching up. He couldn't stop thinking about that hug. Clay had thanked him. After everything he'd done—the betrayal—_both_ betrayals—and the first vote on Mayhem—and now, this, Clay's death warrant.

And Clay had fucking _thanked_ him. He couldn't wrap his head around it. He couldn't make it right. There was a scream buried deep in his chest and it was trying to work its way up and out. He bit down on it. Swallowed hard.

He pulled out two of the oxy he'd taken from Bobby's nightstand and popped them into his mouth. The bitter flavor made him wince, but he thought it was appropriate. He chewed until they were dust. Chewed until his teeth ached.

He stared down at his phone. No. He didn't deserve Olivia right now. She'd been right to walk out on him last night. She'd been right about everything except one: _he_ was the broken one. _He_ was the one who had brought all this death to her door, and he destroyed everything he touched. He turned the phone off and shoved it in his pocket.

He gunned the bike and headed for the nearest liquor store. He wanted to forget all of it—Clay, the club, Olivia—and for once just be _numb_.

* * *

After Olivia pulled herself out of the bath she spent a long, leisurely time drying off and applying lotion. She combed out her hair and French braided it into one long rope. After that she cleaned the kitchen counters and rearranged her mugs to group them by color. Then she messed them up and did it again. She wandered back to the bathroom and scrubbed out the tub.

Finally, after all of that, it occurred to her to check her phone. Tara had been acting strange all day, and when Olivia finally called her on it (while they were in the middle of fishing the bullet out of Bobby's shoulder), she'd said she was working on something. Olivia had offered her help, again, and Tara said she might need it this time.

She had three missed calls from Juice, but he hadn't left a message. He had refused to talk to her about Clay, and she was worried about him. The last time he'd voted on Mayhem it had nearly killed him, and this time they'd actually gone through with it. He'd been instrumental in the death of someone who'd been like a father to him.

She bit her lip and called him back, but it went straight to voicemail. She almost hung up, but at the last minute she decided to leave a message.

"Hey, Juicy, it's me. Liv. Olivia." She rolled her eyes. She fucking hated voicemail. "Right. I see that you called. I'm sorry I didn't answer, but I had the ringer off and—listen, call me back, okay? And if you need to come by, you can. Remember what I told you? You can always come home to me. That still stands." She hesitated. What else was there to say? "Call me back, Juice. Let me know you're okay."

She shut the phone with a frown. Why had she turned the ringer down? She knew Tara might call, and she'd been thinking about Juice all day. And why had he turned his phone off? She knew he wouldn't let it die, so it had to be deliberate.

She paced around the living room and fretted about it. Was he still at the cabin? Maybe he just wasn't getting good reception up there. It could be spotty. She'd decided to call the cabin's landline when the phone in her hand rang. The caller ID displayed Tara's number, not Juice's, and for a moment she hesitated to answer.

"Fuck," she muttered as she flipped the phone open. "Tara. What's up?"

There was a pause. "You sound tense. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Where are you?"

"At the cabin." She lowered her voice. "Gemma brought me up here, so I don't have my car. Can you come get me?"

"Yeah, of course, but—"

"Ollie, please. I can't talk now. I'll explain everything when you get here."

She was already on her way back to the bedroom to get dressed. "I'll be there in two hours."

"Thank you. Oh, wait!" she said before Olivia could hang up. "Don't pull up the driveway. Call me when you're here and I'll come out to you. Okay?"

She let out a little sigh. "Stealth approach. Got it. See you soon." She hit _end_ and let out a long stream of curses. Tara was getting out. _Tonight_. The worst fucking timing—

Juice was a grown man. If he really needed her, he'd call again. He could've left a message, after all.

She tried to comfort herself with that thought as she drove the long, lonely road up to the cabin, but it rang cold and hollow. He was hers. She was his. And on a night when they were both hurting and confused and angry, they were apart.

It didn't seem right, and she had a feeling this night wasn't going to end the way either of them would want it.

* * *

Juice wasn't even sure how he'd gotten to Diosa. Everything from the last hour was a sort of tequila-scented blur. He'd almost gone to Olivia's, but at the last minute he'd changed his mind…and somehow he'd ended up here.

He didn't want to fuck somebody else. He didn't want anyone else to touch him or even look at him. But Olivia was impossibly far away, and all he could think about was what they'd said in the bathroom:

_It was a real nice dream._

_ Maybe the nicest dream I've ever had._

He stripped off his clothes and peered at his wavering reflection in the mirror. A stranger stared back at him. The stranger wore his face, and had his tattoos, but the eyes were tired and stunned and dead, like a beaten animal. He scrubbed both hands up and down his face and shook his head.

The room spun around him.

He ran a hand over the ink on his chest. She'd asked him what they meant, but he hadn't told her. In truth even he wasn't completely sure. You could either be a Son _or_ live in the light, but you couldn't have both. She'd been his light, and he'd fucked that up, too.

He shoved the rest of the oxy in his mouth and swallowed it down with a hard chug of tequila. The pills stuck in his throat, and for a moment he thought he might cough them up. Then they went down like a painful lump. He choked a little and cleared his throat with more liquor.

What if she could see him now? What would she say to him? She told him once she knew all his secrets and loved him anyway. She knew he'd taken a swing from that branch. She knew he'd betrayed the club and murdered a brother. She knew he'd betrayed Clay over and over.

And she said she loved him anyway.

He couldn't forget the feel of Clay's hug. The scratch of his stubble against Juice's cheek. The firm grip. _Thank you for today, brother_.

Two people in this whole God-forsaken, fucked up world who loved him, who genuinely cared what happened to him, who tried to look out for him—and he'd killed one of them and turned his back on the other.

The room took another alarming swing. He thought maybe he should go lie down. He stumbled toward the bed, but when he tried to sit down it moved and he fell.

He muttered something—maybe a curse, maybe a prayer, maybe just nonsense—and then everything went black, like a velvet curtain falling.

He didn't even fight it.

* * *

_Woops. Had to do a bit o' rearranging._

_So in my original plan Olivia was NOT going to get pregnant, but the more I thought about it, the more I needed a way to get Juice to Diosa that night. If he could go to Olivia, like I'd already established, why would he go there instead? I couldn't get it to make sense. They needed a reason to be apart, and there was no way I was making one of them cheat (way too ooc at this point), soooo...here we are. :/_


	42. The One I Love

Haha, okay. The original draft of this chapter was 6.2k words long, which was WAY too much. I took what was meant to be the first bit and stuck it at the end of 41, so you might wanna take a quick hop back and just read the last section there.

As it is this is still a pretty monster chapter, but at this point things are either happening in short little bursts, or in epic sprawls like this.

* * *

**perfect summer's night **  
**not a wind that breathes **  
**just the bullets whispering gentle **  
**'mongst the new green leaves **  
**there's things i might have said  
****only wish i could **  
**now i'm leaking life faster **  
**than i'm leaking blood**  
David Gray, "The One I Love"

"Pull over. I need to call Gemma."

Olivia cut her eyes across the car at Tara. "I'd think Gemma was the last person you'd want to call."

"I have to make sure she's away from her house, and she stays away for a while. I don't want her to hear the engine noise, so pull over."

She did as Tara asked and cut the engine. Tara took a deep breath and hit the button for Gemma's speed dial. Olivia listened as she told Gemma she was at the cabin and needed help with Bobby. She must have asked about Olivia, because Tara said, "I don't want to bother Ollie after the day she's had. You know she's been sick."

They talked another minute or two before Tara hung up and offered Olivia a quick, nervous smile. "She bought it. She's on her way up there now."

"So her house first, or yours? We need car seats for the boys, right?"

"Yeah. Better make it—" She broke off when Olivia's phone rang.

She fumbled for it, hoping it was Juice. Instead she stared at the caller ID with a confused scowl. "It's Gemma."

"She might want to know if you can go instead. Put her off somehow."

"Maybe I should just ignore it."

"No, that might make her suspicious. Go ahead and answer."

She caught the call just before it rolled to voicemail. "Gemma! Hi, what's up?"

"Hey, Ollie. You feelin' okay?"

"Um. Yeah. It was a…well. You know what kind of day it was. But I'm fine, I guess."

Gemma took a long breath and let it out slowly. "Tara just called me. She needs help up at the cabin, but she didn't want to bother you."

"Okay…?" Olivia said. She didn't want to volunteer to go in Gemma's place in case she took the offer.

"I'm on my way up there now, but I need you here at Diosa."

Now her confusion was genuine. "Diosa? Why would you need me at Diosa?"

Gemma hesitated a moment. When she spoke again her voice was grim. "Juice is here."

"Wait. What? Why would Juice—"

"Just listen a sec, Ollie. He took a bunch of oxy and he's had a lot to drink. He passed out. He's not—he's not in great shape."

Her mouth fell open. Tara watched her with an avid, worried expression. "Gemma, what…how much—how many did he take?"

A hard sigh. "Six, baby. He took six pills and drank a full bottle of tequila."

"Holy shit," she whispered.

"Yeah. I need you here, Ollie. Nero's with him now, and he's got him up and walking, but I know it would do him good to see you." She paused. "I guess there's somethin' goin' on between you, some sort of trouble in paradise, but now's not the time—"

"Fuck you, Gemma. This is not my fault."

"Didn't say it was, sweetheart," she said, mildly. "You just need to put whatever it is aside and get over here."

Olivia clenched her teeth. "I'm on my way." She slammed the phone shut and leaned forward to brace her forearms on the steering wheel. "Juice is at Diosa," she told Tara.

"I heard. My God, Ollie."

"Gemma said he passed out, but now they've got him up and walking around." Her brow creased. "Tara—"

"It's okay. You have to go. I understand. Just drop me at home and I'll take it from there."

Olivia started to say something else, but instead she just nodded and started the car. They were only a few miles from the house Jax and Tara shared, and all was dark and quiet when they pulled in. Olivia helped her load the car with the suitcases she'd already packed, and as Tara shut the back door they both paused.

"Will I see you again?" Olivia said.

"I don't know. I don't think so."

They embraced, both of them near tears. "I'm sorry. I wish I could—"

"Ollie, no. You've done enough. If you got caught—"

"What if _you_ get caught?"

"Thanks to you hopefully I won't be." She gripped Olivia's arms and managed a shaky smile. "Get Juice, Ollie. Get out of Charming. The club's coming down, and I don't want the two of you caught up in it."

"Are you really gonna do this, Tara?"

"I have to keep my boys safe. I don't know any other way."

She closed her eyes and nodded a little. "Yeah. Do what you need to do. I'll cover for you."

They hugged again, and this time they _were_ crying. "Thank you, Ollie. I love you."

"I love you too. Be careful, okay?"

"You too."

With one last squeeze Olivia pulled away and brushed a hand across her face. She crossed her arms and started toward her car.

"Ollie!" Tara said.

She turned with a quizzical cant to her head.

"Juice loves you. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do. But Jax loves you, Tara. Is that enough?"

She was silent, and even in the semi-dark Olivia could see the resigned set to her mouth. "Juice isn't Jax," she said at last. "I think things can work out better for you than they have for me. You've just gotta get out. Get out before it's too late."

_It might already be too late_, she thought but didn't say. Instead she just gave a quick, sharp jerk of her head and hurried on to her car. She sat and watched as Tara started the SUV and backed out of the driveway. She raised her hand in a wave that Olivia returned with a sad, hopeful smile.

They both suspected it. Neither of them knew for sure. But they both thought it was probably the last time they would ever see each other.

* * *

When Olivia walked in at Diosa, Lyla said something to the girl she was talking to and hurried over. She threw her arms around Olivia and held her tight.

"Ollie, thank God you're here. When he came in he was already a mess. I didn't want him to be alone, but I couldn't stay with him, so I sent a girl in there I trust, one of our girls. I explained everything to her, and she never would have—"

"It's okay, Lyla. I'm not worried about that part. Just tell me what's going on."

Lyla laced her arm through Olivia's and led her back toward the room where she'd stashed Juice. "He was passed out when she walked in. I saw he'd taken the pills, and Gemma helped him throw up. Nero's been walking with him, but I had to come back out here. We've got clients."

"Lyla." She took her friend by the arms and managed a smile. "I know you did everything you could for him. Thank you for being here." They hugged again and Olivia broke away first. It had been quite the night for hugs, and she had never been much of a hugger.

Neither of them spoke as Olivia pushed the door open and tried to make sense of the scene. At first she didn't even see Juice. Nero had his back to the door, and his head was bent. She followed the line of his gaze down and there he was, collapsed on the floor in the corner. She cast a look at Lyla, who just shook her head.

"Get back to work," Olivia said, softly. "I've got this."

Lyla squeezed her hand and hurried away. Olivia stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Nero spun at the sound, and the look on his face was so feral she fell back with a hard breath.

"What—?"

He charged at her. Threw his arm back toward Juice. "Did you know?" he cried.

"Know what? Nero—"

Then, through the din, she finally made out what Juice was muttering: "I'm so sorry. Didn' wanna kill her. She didn' mean it. She was s'sad. Didn' wanna do it."

Olivia's eyes went wide. They flicked from Nero to Juice and back again. "I think you've got the wrong idea, Nero."

"Oh no, your boy here's made it pretty fuckin' clear. He killed Darvany, and Jax made the call. That about right?"

Her expression turned hard. She stepped closer and glared up at him. "Juice did not kill Darvany. I promise you that much."

"She's dead, Olivia! If he didn't kill her, then tell me who did!"

"It wasn't Juice," she said through gritted teeth.

"You gonna try to tell me it was you? Because you could barely walk, so don't think I'm gonna buy that load of shit."

She rested her hand on his arm. Their eyes met, hers green and bright, his dark and furious. "Nero, listen to me. I know you're angry—"

"Did Jax order Juice to kill that girl or not, Olivia?"

She swallowed hard. At that moment she stood at a crossroads: did she sell out Jax to Nero, then grab Juice and run? Or did she try to cover for him? _Lie_ for him, to a man she both liked and respected, for no other reason than to protect Jax Teller's ass. She could see it all laid out like a map, and there was a long, tense silence as she decided which path to take.

"It was a confusing day," she said. "And I'd been shot, as you just pointed out."

"Uh huh. But you know enough to _promise_ me Juice didn't kill her."

"Jax could be like a son to you, Nero. You could help him. He needs someone who doesn't buy into all this bullshit, this club life."

"I'm too old to adopt. I had this same conversation with Gemma earlier today." Some of the anger eased from his expression. He didn't want to scare her. Whatever had happened, none of it was her fault, and if she was covering for Juice—well, who could blame her? She loved him.

"Just tell me what happened, Ollie. That's all I'm askin'. Your name stays out of it, no matter what goes down. You've got my word."

"And Juice?"

He made an impatient gesture. "I'll try to keep him out of it, too."

It hardly mattered. Jax would have to know who had told him. Otherwise why the fuck would Nero suspect anything now, after all this time? She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingertips before she raised her head again.

"Someone who had a vested interest in keeping Darvany quiet got nervous, especially after the incident with the gun, that she was too unstable to be trusted. Juice was ordered to make sure she didn't talk. I can promise you he did not kill her." Her tone was measured, precise, and she chose each word with care.

"But you're not gonna tell me who did, and you're not gonna say Jax's name even though he's the only one who coulda made that call."

Her only answer was silence. She lifted a brow, and after a moment he fell back with a resigned nod. He lifted his hands. "Fine, Ollie. I get it. You gotta do what you gotta do."

"This isn't about loyalty to the club, Nero. I know you understand that."

"You're a smart girl, Olivia. I hope to hell you know what you're doing."

"So do I," she admitted with a rueful smile. "But it's too late in the game to change my bet now."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'll help you get him up. After that I gotta get out of here. Need some air."

"Thank you, Nero," she said. "I owe you. We both do."

His mouth moved in a bitter moue. "I'll remember you said that."

* * *

Juice opened his eyes the next morning and immediately screwed them shut again. There was a jackhammer in his head and it felt like something had died in his mouth. He slowly cracked open one eye, then the other. He staggered out of bed to the bathroom and swished some water around in his mouth. There was a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste on the edge of the sink. He used them gratefully.

As he wandered back toward the bed he saw that both sides were rumpled. He froze. Had he—? No. There was no way. He'd been way too smashed last night to do anything, let alone—_that_. He crawled back under the covers and sniffed the other pillow.

It smelled like Olivia. He tried to remember what had happened last night, but all he knew for sure what that he was at Diosa and his skull felt like it was about to explode. He had maybe the worst hangover of his entire life.

He sat hunched over with his head in his hands. He heard the door open, but a wave of nausea hit when he tried to look up, so he stayed where he was instead.

"You look like shit, Ortiz."

He raised his head slowly. Her mouth was curved in a sardonic smile and she held a tray in her hands. She was wearing the t-shirt he'd had on yesterday. Her legs were bare. "Olivia?" he said in a thick, choking voice.

"The one and only." She walked around the bed and set the tray down before she climbed in next to him. She dropped two tablets into a short glass of water and handed it to him. "Drink that. It'll help with the headache and the nausea."

He took a sip and made a face. "Ugh."

"I know. Drink up."

He did as she ordered and finished off the water in a few long gulps. She smiled and swapped the empty glass for one filled with orange juice.

"Drink it slowly. The folic acid helps with nausea, too, and of course you need to rehydrate."

"What's that?" he said and pointed at the plate.

She held it up. "This, my friend, is the scientifically proven miracle hangover cure you've been looking for. Three slices of bacon on white bread. Carbs, protein, amino acids—all the good stuff your body needs to recover from the abuse you put it through last night." She set the plate in his lap. "Eat up, sugar. It's not gettin' in your tummy through osmosis."

He frowned down at the sandwich, but despite his roiling gut the smell was tempting. He had a tentative bite. Chewed slowly and swallowed. "Not bad," he said. "You cook this?"

"It's just bacon, Ortiz. Anyone can cook bacon."

He grinned and finished off both the sandwich and the juice under her watchful eye. By the time he was done the Alka-Seltzer was starting to kick in. He actually did feel a little better. When he told her so she made face like he'd just insulted her. Of _course_ he felt better.

"I was married to an Irish mobster for six years. I know a thing or two about hangovers."

Sometimes the references she made to her old life were so glib and offhand that they left him taken aback. It was probably easier for her to make a joke out of it. You couldn't torture yourself with the past all the time, a lesson he would hopefully learn one day.

He sat back against the pillows, but she stayed upright. Her shoulders were tense. He wondered how she'd gotten here.

"What time is it?" he said.

"Still early. Eight-ish, I think."

He stared at the long rope of braid down her back. It caught the light when she shifted and flared gold amidst the red. "Olivia—"

"Don't," she said, a sharp crack. She twisted toward him, and the pain in her face made him cringe. "What the hell were you thinking, Juice? Why would you do something like that? You promised you'd always come home to me!"

He dropped his head and scrubbed at his face. "I fucked up, baby. I'm sorry. I fucked up so bad. I just kept thinkin' about Clay and about you, and—I don't even know what happened. I tried to call, but you didn't answer."

"I know," she said. "I called you back and left a message, but I guess you'd already turned your phone off. Juicy, I'm so sorry."

He stared at her, wide-eyed. "_You're_ sorry? Olivia, none of this is your fault."

"I should have been there. I promised you I would be and I let you down."

"No, babe. No." He pulled her to him despite her token resistance. "You never once let me down, Liv. I knew how much you hurt, and I walked away anyway. I didn't trust you, or us, and the second things got rocky I just turned my back. It's _my_ fault."

"I should have told you," she said.

"I wish you had so I coulda been there. I would've held your hand. That's my job."

Her eyes dropped. "There are some things you don't know. About—about me."

He lifted her chin. "Tara told me what the doctor said. She told me why you did it."

Her mouth fell open. "Oh God," she managed.

"It doesn't change anything. I mean, it doesn't change how I feel about you. I wish I could go back and do everything different. I know I fucked up. I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me everything."

Tears overflowed her eyes and slid down her cheeks. "It wasn't you, Juicy. I just couldn't. I couldn't bear you to know. I'm so messed up. I'm so bad for you."

He cupped her face and tangled his fingers in her hair. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You gotta know that. I love you, Olivia. I need you. I'll do anything you want. Anything, just name it. You need time, you got it. Just talk to me, baby, please."

Her reply was to scoot closer, until she was in his lap, and press her mouth against his. His hands hovered in confusion, and she held one to her hip and the other to her waist. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how this works already," she murmured as she kissed him again.

He shifted beneath her. He was suddenly very conscious of his own nudity. "Nooo," he said. His hand drifted down to her bare thigh. "I definitely remember. I just—are you sure—right now? Here?"

"Wouldn't be the first time we've had sex in a brothel," she said with a wicked grin. "This time we even have a bed."

That particular memory wasn't doing anything to help keep his libido in check. "Olivia, wait. Please, sweetheart, just—" He took her gently by the shoulders and pushed her away. "Hang on, Liv, please."

Her brows drew together. "If you don't want me you can just say so," she said.

"Of course I want you. I always want you. The only time I've touched you in over two weeks was yesterday in the bathroom. I'm goin' crazy wantin' you, babe."

She looked suddenly unsure. Vulnerable. "Okay, then…?"

He brushed her hair off her face and ran his thumb across her cheek. "I wanna make sure it's what you really want. I don't want you to think we have to, or that I'm not okay with waiting until you're ready."

She rested her hands against his chest. Her eyes were steady on his. She was so quiet and so still, and her face was unreadable. He wanted to ask what she was thinking, but he kept his mouth shut and waited her out. Finally her lips curved and she kissed him, long and soft and sweet.

"I love you, Juice Ortiz," she said.

"I love you too," he told her, confused, as she hopped out of bed. She made sure he was watching her (as if he could look anywhere else, even if he wanted to—which he definitely did not) as she slid her panties off and kicked them away. She pulled the sheet down, and when she climbed into his lap again it was skin against skin.

"You, uh." He cleared his throat. "You didn't want to take your shirt off too?"

"_Your_ shirt. And I thought you might want to help me with that." She guided his hands to her hips again and up under the t-shirt's hem. She leaned close. Her mouth was so close to his he could feel the whisper of her lips as she spoke. "Ask me again if I'm sure," she said.

His breath caught in his throat. He moved a little and she made a low noise of disapproval.

"Ask me," she said.

"Are you—are you sure, Liv?"

She sucked his lower lip. Ran her tongue across it. Nipped it with her lips. "Are you?"

"Fuck yes," he said on a breath.

"Really for sure sure or just that kinda sure like at three AM when you're watching an infomercial and whatever they're advertising looks way too good to be true?"

He blinked at her, and once his sluggish brain decoded it all he let out a laugh. "For sure sure. Not the infomercial kind."

She held his face in her hands and kissed him. Her tongue ran over his and around the inside of his mouth. He kneaded her hips with both hands. He pushed the shirt up to just below her breasts and tickled her ribs. She wiggled and bit him.

"Hey!" he said, laughing. "That hurt."

"Mmmm." She wiggled some more. "You don't seem to mind that much."

"Well, no, I don't, but—whoa, what's the matter?"

Her face had suddenly transformed. Her eyes were wide, her skin pale. "There's something I need to tell you. It's kind of—bad. And—awkward. For you."

"That's your _the club might want to kill you when they find this out_ face."

"Hah. Funny." She took a deep breath and told him everything that went down last night: how she'd missed his calls, how she'd helped Tara, how Gemma had called her to come to Diosa, and what had happened when she got there.

He listened to her story with growing incredulity, and as she finished his head fell back. "Fuck," he said.

"Succinct, but accurate."

"They're gonna wonder how Tara got away from the cabin."

"Maybe she called a cab. They won't think it was me. Why would they?"

He ran a hand back and forth over his scalp. "What about Nero?"

"I don't know, love. He was upset, obviously. He knows it was Jax."

"And I told him. And he's gonna go straight to Jax. And then I'm dead."

"Not if we get out now. If Tara makes that deal they'll be coming after the club. You'll all go to jail. As for me, there's no way I'll be able to avoid Atlanta. Yesterday you were ready to go. Are you still?"

"If we run they'll think we were in on it, or that we ratted. I don't want them to think that about either one of us."

"I _am_ in on it, Juicy!"

"I know." He pulled her tight against him. "You're right. We were waiting for you to do what you promised Tara, and now you've done that. We'll leave. Today."

"Really?" she said. She hardly dared to hope.

"Yeah, really. You and me, remember?"

Her smile was blinding. "You and me, Juicy." The kiss stretched on and on, but when she tried to pull away he tugged her back. "We need to go pack," she said, a half-hearted protest as she returned his kisses with fervor.

"We've got time."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice thick and low. He flipped her over, and she laughed as her back hit the mattress. He brushed his lips over hers again and again, lingering a little longer each time. His hand moved from her belly up her body to rest just below her breasts.

"Babe, can I—?"

She nodded. "Everything's back to normal. Physically, anyway."

He winced. Instead of using his hand, he rucked the shirt up higher and dipped his head to run his tongue across first one nipple and then the other. She made a soft, breathless noise that went straight through him. He knew he'd missed her, but he had no idea how much until now. He let out a ragged breath and she smirked.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "I'm tryin' to take my time."

She chuckled. "I know you are, baby," she said and brushed a hand over his head. "But maybe we could save that for another day? I appreciate the effort, but I'm about ten seconds away from jumping you."

"Oh really?"

She ran a hand down and wrapped her fingers around his cock. "Considering you've had this pressed against my thigh for the past several minutes, yeah. Really."

He let out a strangled gasp as she stroked the length of him. "I just, ahh—I didn't want to rush anything."

"Very thoughtful. Definitely one of the top ten reasons I'm so crazy about you."

"What are the other nine?" he said. He ran his nose up and down the smooth white skin of her neck. Flicked his tongue against her and left a trail of soft kisses.

"You want them alphabetically or, um, in order of, ah, preference?"

"Hhhmm." He pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Sucked one of her nipples into his mouth and rolled it between his lips. "How about the order they occur to you."

"Ohhh," she said, the syllable lengthening as he sucked harder.

He moved to lie between her legs. Stroked his hands down her thighs and lifted them until she locked her legs around his hips.

She kissed the corner of his jaw, just below his ear. "Your smile," she said. "The first time you smiled at me it made my tummy do this funny little flip thing and I ended up buying you a drink and, ultimately, taking you back to my room for some pretty serious sex."

He huffed out a laugh. His dark eyes stayed steady on hers as he slid into her, long and slow, and her body arched to meet him.

"That," she said, breathlessly. "I love that so fucking much. You feel so damn good. Is that shallow?"

"No." He kissed her. "I love it too. You're mine, Livvie, and I don't think I'll ever stop wanting you."

She closed her eyes. "Say it again, Juicy."

He lowered his head to murmur in her ear: "You're mine, Olivia. I love you."

She moaned softly and moved her hips with his. "And you want me?" she whispered.

"Don't ever doubt that, baby. I want you so fucking much I can't see straight. You make me crazy."

"Don't stop!" she said as he slowed.

"Not stopping," he said through gritted teeth. "Just gotta—can't—fuck, babe, you feel so good!"

She squeezed him deep inside and he groaned. "Goddamn, Livvie!"

"More, baby, please don't stop, more!"

He buried his face in her neck and thrust into her harder and faster. Pulled her legs up higher to change the angle and go even deeper. Her head fell back. He ran his tongue along her collarbone and lapped at the droplets of sweat that clung to her heated skin.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, and every moan and gasp and hot, aching plea spurred him on and made him want her that much more.

"I'll never get enough of you, baby," he whispered against her skin.

She wrapped her arms around him and cradled the back of his head in her hand. Her legs tightened, and with every thrust he felt the muscles jump and dance. His name and words of love and lust mixed with incoherent whimpers and soft cries as she matched him thrust for thrust. He held her still and ground against her. Rocked deeper in the way he knew she liked.

Their eyes met and held. The look on her face made his heart stutter and skip. How could he have doubted her? How could he have been so stupid? He caught her moans with his mouth, and as his teeth found her lip and his tongue ran over hers he felt her go tight around him.

"Yes, Juicy, yes so good fuck!" she cried. She came hard, long, intense shudders that took her breath and left her speechless. He grinned down at her, enraptured, and when she was finally coherent again she lifted a brow.

"Forget something?" she said.

"I got distracted," he breathed.

"Mmmm." She stretched her legs, running her feet down the back of his thighs and along his calves. She moved beneath him and he panted. His head dropped and she flicked her tongue against his scalp.

"So fucking close," he said, his voice ragged and cracked.

She kissed his temple and mouthed the salty dampness off his forehead. "I'd say it's your turn."

He groaned and bucked against her.

"Like that, baby," she murmured. "Come for me, Juicy. Let me feel you."

The muscles in his back rippled beneath her hands as he thrust into her. It didn't take long: a few quick, hard jerks of his hips; the lurid sound of skin against skin; her tantalizing whisper in his ear.

"Liv oh God baby I love you, I love you, can't get enough—!" She squeezed him over and over as he came, milking him dry with her hot velvet cunt until he thought he might pass out. He collapsed against her with a protracted groan, and for a long time neither of them moved.

She could feel his heart hammering against her chest, and hers matched his beat for frantic beat. They were both breathless, panting, and their bodies were slicked with sweat.

He finally raised his head and met her wide eyes with a drunken little half-smile. "You still owe me seven."

"Seven? Seven what?"

"Reasons." He kissed whatever was closest to his mouth; it happened to be her nipple. "Reasons why you're crazy about me."

She laughed, and he felt it like a buzz through his body. He pulled out and flipped over to lie next to her. "Come on," he said. "Spill it."

"Humm." She pressed a line of kisses down his chest. "You're a better cook than me."

"Olivia, the Swedish Chef is a better cook than you."

"Rude!" She swatted his shoulder and threw her legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed her around the waist and yanked her back. She gave a short, surprised shriek that he cut off with his mouth.

"Six," he said.

Her expression turned serious and she ran her fingers over his face. "You quiet me," she said, softly. "All that noise in my head, all that fear and anger and bullshit…when I'm with you it doesn't seem as important. Not gone, just—"

"Muted," he said.

"Muted. That's right."

He knew exactly what she meant because he'd often thought the same thing about her. "Olivia, promise me something."

"Yeah, Juicy. Name it."

He swallowed. His face was drawn in serious lines, and his dark eyes were intense as he studied her. Whatever he was about to say, it was important, and she knew she couldn't make the promise he wanted lightly.

"Don't keep something like this from me again, Liv. I mean, I know that this was a—unique—situation, but I mean something this _big_. I'm here, Olivia. Your shit is my shit. You and me, baby, no matter what."

Her lips curved and suddenly she was fighting tears. "You and me," she said. "I promise. No more secrets."

He dropped his head to kiss her, but just before their lips met she twisted away. The postcards flashed through her mind, and she knew she had to tell him about them. He pulled back with a confused frown, and just as she opened her mouth to explain, her phone rang.

They both jumped at the tinny, insistent noise.

"Fuck," she said. "Who the fuck is calling me before ten AM?"

He reached for it and glanced at the screen. "It's Jax," he said. Their eyes met. "Maybe you should take it."

He rolled away and she flipped the phone open. "Jax. It's early. Is everything okay?"

"Where the fuck is Juice?" he demanded immediately.

"Good morning, Jackson." She raised an eyebrow at Juice and he nodded. "He's right here. I think he forgot to plug his phone in last night."

"Let me talk to him," he said, roughly.

She passed the phone over with a deep frown. He hesitated a moment before he raised it to his ear. "Hey, Jax. Sorry, Liv's right—"

"Doesn't matter. Listen, Tara—" His voice broke and he had to pause to collect himself. "Tara took off last night. She took the boys. Gemma thinks she's gonna make a deal."

"What? Holy shit, you don't—"

"I think if she were gonna do it it would've been done already and we'd all be on our way to County. But I gotta find her."

Juice reached for Olivia's hand. Their fingers tangled together and he squeezed hard. "What, uh. What're you gonna do?"

"I don't know yet. Just get to the shop, Juicy. I'm callin' full table."

Juice cleared his throat. "You need me to go get Bobby?"

"Nah. Chibs and Tig are on their way with him now." He paused. "Juice, if Olivia knows where Tara is—"

"She doesn't, Jax."

"If she _does_," he said like Juice hadn't spoken, "tell her she can tell me. I'm not gonna hurt her or Tara. You've both got my word."

Olivia raised a brow. She knew what Jackson Teller's word could be worth, and she wasn't buying it.

"She doesn't know, Jax. Look, I'll see you at the shop."

"Yeah, Juicy," he said, wearily. "See you then."

Juice flipped the phone closed and handed it to her. "Well," she said.

"This doesn't change anything, babe. We can still leave if you want to."

She squeezed the phone and shook her head. "I need to know what's happening with Tara. If she's okay. I can't let Jax kill her."

"I don't think—"

"He might," she said. She kissed him hard and fast. "I'm gonna run home for a change of clothes, and then I'll try to get in touch with her. Meantime, please be careful. I love you."

"I love you too," he said. "If I can protect Tara I will."

She paused. "You gave her Collette's address."

His mouth opened. He shut it again. His eyes slid away. "That wasn't my best move."

"You knew she and Jax were fucking?"

"Strongly suspected."

Olivia was quiet. "Tara is the closet thing I've ever had to a sister, Juice. I think you, of all people, can appreciate what that means."

"Yeah, Liv." He met her gaze with a strong, steady look of his own. "I'll do what I can."

"I know you will," she said. "I trust you."

* * *

_That could be bad. We'll just have to see._

_I would looooove some reviews going into the end of season 6 here, because it's pretty harrowing all around. Your encouragement means so much. :)_


	43. Bedlam

I'm going to preface this with the following plea: trust me, faithful readers. We've been together a long time. I wouldn't betray you now.

* * *

**confusion wanders in **  
**strides the evening like a king **  
**chaos and turmoil prevail **  
**bedlam reigns, hope is drowned **  
**ah but strangely we settle down **  
**resigned to the sinking ship on which we sail**  
David Gray, "It's All Over"

When Olivia got home Rat was already there, perched on her front steps. He rose as she approached and gave a quick nod.

"Hey, Ollie," he said.

Her mouth twisted. "I guess you're here to keep an eye on me."

"Um, yeah. Jax said—"

She waved a hand. "Forget it. I can imagine what Jax said. Why aren't you at church with everybody else?"

He shuffled his feet and tucked his hands in his pockets. "He thought you might—I mean, while everybody was there would be a great time for you to—"

"Right. Well. Come on in, I guess. You want anything?"

"Nah, I'm okay."

"Boots, cut, gun," she said and pointed to each spot in turn.

"Um, Jax said—"

She let out a hard sigh. "This is my house, Rat. If you don't want to follow my rules, you can stay out here. Jackson Teller's no president of mine."

Rat spared a moment to wonder if all old ladies were like Gemma, Tara, and Ollie. He didn't think they were, as a whole, quite so fucking _difficult_. At last he sighed and slumped down on the bench. "I'll wait here," he mumbled.

"Great," she said. "I'm going to change. I'll be right back."

"Oh, Ollie, hey."

She paused and turned back.

"Someone left this tucked in your door. I saw it when I got here." He held out a plain white envelope, and she took it with a lifted brow.

"So you thought you'd just grab it for me?"

"I didn't read it. I just—I had to make sure it wasn't from Tara."

She rubbed a hand across her face. "Wait here," she said. "I'll be ten minutes, max."

She shut her bedroom door behind her and dropped the envelope on the vanity. She recognized it perfectly well. There was no postmark at all this time, and from what Rat said it sounded like it hadn't come through the mail.

"One problem at a time," she muttered to herself. She dove into her closet, and while surrounded by clothes and bags and shoes, she pulled out her phone and dialed Tara's number. It rang several times before she finally answered.

"Ollie," she said. "You shouldn't be calling."

"I know. And believe me, it was hard to shake my tail long enough to do it. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. Tail? Are you still in Charming?"

"For now. Jax has Rat on me and he's called the table. I don't know what he's planning to do."

There was a brief silence. Then, "How's Juice?"

"Okay. Relatively speaking. I don't think he was trying to—to die so much as just forget for a minute. Tara, are you making the deal?"

"I don't know. I think so. I'm meeting with my lawyer later to talk about it."

Olivia let out a long breath. "Be careful, yeah? Keep your eyes open."

"I will." She said something to one of the kids and then, to Olivia, "Did you talk to Jax?"

"Juice did. I overheard the conversation."

"How did he sound?"

"Worried," she said. "Tired. More confused than angry, to be honest."

She made a soft noise, and Olivia thought she might be crying. "Thanks for calling, Ollie."

"Yeah, of course. I'll call again if I can."

"Don't risk yourself. Stay safe."

"You too, Tara." There was a knock at the bedroom door. "Fuck, gotta go. Bye!" She hung up and stuffed the phone in her pocket. The knock came again. She stripped her shirt off and quickly ran a hand through her braid to loosen it.

She opened the door and peeked her head out. "I told you I'd be a minute. What's the matter?"

"Jax wants me to take you back to the shop. You're going to work today, right?"

"TM or the ice cream shop?"

"Um. Ice cream, I think."

"That's not where I work, Rat."

"I know, but he said—"

"Look, I need a shower. Can he wait a few minutes? Obviously I'm not going to escape your clutches from my fucking _bathroom_."

He shuffled his feet. She glanced down at the sound and lifted a brow. There was a hole in his left sock. He wiggled his toes and she grinned. He looked away guiltily.

"It'll be our little secret, sugar." She opened the door wider and he gulped.

"Uh—"

"Unless you wanna see more than you bargained for, how about go park yourself in the living room while I run through the shower. Don't worry. If Jax grumbles I'll cover for you."

Rat rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Just hurry, okay? I told him we were leaving now."

She gave his arm a squeeze as she passed, and a moment later he heard the water start in the bathroom. She took what had to be the fastest shower of her life, and when she opened the door again he was on her couch flipping through the channels on her TV.

"Five more minutes, Rat," she said.

He acknowledged that by raising the remote at her.

She left the bedroom door open and grabbed the first clothes that came to hand: a pair of jeans and the old thrift store Yes concert t-shirt she'd worn to see Juice in the hospital that day over two years ago, the day she'd crawled in bed with him and they'd eaten too many cookies. She thought maybe that was a good omen. She got dressed, and as she sat down at the vanity to do her hair her eye landed on the envelope.

She snuck a look over her shoulder, but Rat had apparently stayed in the living room out of deference to her state of déshabillé. She made quick work of her braid and then ripped the envelope open. It wasn't a postcard this time, but instead a photograph of the "Welcome to Charming" sign. She flipped it over.

_Such a lovely town. So sorry we missed you. Next time? xoxo_

"You ready?" Rat called.

She dropped the photo and rubbed her palm against her jeans. "Yep," she said. "Let's go."

Olivia hurried out to her car while Rat lingered to get his boots on. She sat for a moment and tried to collect herself. Teddy was in Charming. He knew where she worked. He knew where she lived. He was coming for her.

"One goddamn problem at a time," she said to her reflection in the rearview mirror. She would be at the ice cream shop today. He couldn't get to her there.

For now, at least, she was safe. It was more than she could say for Tara, and that's who she needed to focus on right now.

* * *

When they found Tara at the park, Juice's first thought was about Olivia. He'd promised her he'd try to protect Tara, but how could he? Short of punching Jax in the face—which would get him shot—what could he possibly do? He played with Thomas and tried to eavesdrop on their conversation. Tara was crying. Jax looked stern.

If he broke this promise to Olivia he'd probably never forgive himself.

He almost fainted with relief when Jax told them to take the boys back to the shop. Bobby asked what was happening with Tara.

"It's okay, brother," he said and patted Bobby's arm. "She's no rat. She was just scared and wanted to protect our boys. Now I'm gonna protect her."

They got the carseats transferred to the vans and they all made an unlikely caravan to the ice cream shop. Olivia's car was parked out front, and after he left Thomas with Chibs he went to find her.

She was in the workroom in the back, but it didn't look like she was working. Her phone was on the table and she spun it around and around. Her forehead was creased, her eyes frightened. He paused a moment.

Then, "Nice shirt," he said.

She looked up and her expression smoothed into a smile. "That's not what you said last time." She rose to meet him. Ran her arms around his neck as he rested his hands on her waist.

"I was upset and under the influence of pain medication. I can't be held responsible for anything I said that day."

She kissed him, but when she pulled away the worry was back. "You're here already? Did you find Tara?"

"Yeah. I think it's gonna be okay, babe. Jax said she didn't make the deal, and he's going to protect her and the boys."

"What's that mean?"

"I'm not sure. The boys are here, but Jax is with Tara now."

"Juice—"

"Hey, no, it's okay. I promise you. You didn't see him. He won't hurt her."

She rested her forehead against his chest and he kissed her hair. "You're sure, Juicy?"

"I'm sure, Liv. I think this might all work out. For once."

She turned away and rubbed a hand across her face. "We've got another situation."

He tensed. Of course they did. They _always_ did. "Lay it on me," he said, ruefully.

"Nero just called. He had a little talk with Jax this morning."

"Oh shit."

"He said he left our names out of it, but Jax will know. He has to. There's nobody else who could've told him."

He scrubbed at his scalp. "So what do we do?"

"I don't know." She pivoted and leaned against the counter. Her nose scrunched. "Part of me says to ride it out, see what happens—but a bigger part of me doesn't trust Jax to act rationally about this. He already doesn't trust me; he had Rat on my house this morning and apparently I'm not allowed to go to TM. Where I actually fucking _work_."

His mouth twisted in irritation. Jax should have talked to him first; Olivia was his old lady, not Jax', and Jax needed to respect that. Saying that aloud was a sure-fire way to piss her off even more, though, so instead he tried to reassure her.

"It's me he'll come after," he said. "I'm the rat, not you."

Her eyes flicked to his and she lifted a brow. "He can try to come after you."

He snorted and stepped closer. Tugged her against him and rested his forehead on hers. "You are very tiny and very scary. I'd bet on you against Jax Teller any day."

"I'm not that tiny," she said with a frown.

He ran a hand up to cup her breast. "Not everywhere, no."

She laughed and shoved him away. "Perv. Don't you have some sort of club business to attend to?"

"Probably. But I'd rather make out with you—even when you're wearing a Yes t-shirt."

"Ohh," she said as he pulled her close again. "I guess this _must_ be love."

"You know it, gorgeous," he murmured just before their mouths met.

The kiss was long and leisurely, warm and easy. She tasted like mint and honey; his tongue was soft, his lips firm; her fingers traced lazy patterns on the back of his neck while his eased beneath the edge of her shirt to stroke the smooth skin along her sides.

They were jerked out of the moment by banging on the door.

"All right, laddie!" Chibs called without opening it. "That's enough canoodling with the pretty lady. We've got business that needs seein' to!"

He scowled. She giggled and kissed his nose. "Told you."

"Yeah, yeah. All right, Chibs, I'm coming!" He kissed her again. And again. She patted his ass and stepped back.

"Go on. He might bust down the door."

"Thirty seconds, Juicy!"

He rolled his eyes. "I'll let you know what's happening as soon as I know anything," he said to her. One more quick kiss. "I love you."

"Love you too, babe. Go!"

He went. She waved at Chibs, but his only response was a tight smile—almost more like a grimace—that didn't touch his eyes. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything he shut the door behind them.

Jax must have said something to him about Juice. About Nero. But Chibs knew the truth; surely he, of all people, wouldn't—

But the club was the club, and a rat was a rat. Olivia sank down onto a nearby stool and cradled her head in her hand.

They would take it to the table this time. The whole thing, maybe. How the fuck could Juice avoid Mayhem then? They'd strip his patch and kill him. After that…after that they might come after her. A rat's old lady couldn't be trusted.

Juice wasn't alone. He had allies. Or at least he had _an ally_. She wasn't sure how she could help him, but she knew she had to.

She pressed her shaking hands against the table, palms flat and fingers spread. Gradually her fear subsided. She had options. The game wasn't over yet, and she still had cards to play.

* * *

When Juice pulled up in front of Jax and Tara's house he took a brief inventory of the cars spilling out of the driveway: a patrol car (Roosevelt's, probably), Tara's SUV, and, as he'd suspected, Unser's truck. It was parked haphazardly on the lawn and the door hung open. The engine was off, but the keys were still in the ignition. He yanked them out and pocketed them, then pulled his gun. He held it low to hide it from any too-curious neighbors and tried to act normal as he approached the house.

The front door was ajar, and he pushed it open with his gun. He looked first right, down the hall, then left toward the kitchen. His eyes went wide.

Roosevelt and Tara were tied up on the kitchen floor. The Sheriff was clearly dead, slumped sideways with a growing pool of blood beneath him. Tara was still alive, but Gemma stood over her with a gun aimed at the back of her head.

He couldn't make sense of it. Gemma had managed to overpower both Eli _and_ Tara and had taken the time to tie them up? Then she'd killed Eli? What the fuck?

"Gemma!" he said.

She spun toward him. The gun trembled in her hand. Her face was wild, her mascara streaked like a maniacal Alice Cooper. "She did this!" she said. "I have to do it! She ratted. It's her fault!"

He held up his weapon to show that he wasn't going to hurt her. "She didn't rat, Gem. She didn't. Give me the gun. It'll be okay. Hand me the gun."

She moved her finger to the trigger. Juice charged and knocked the gun out of her hand. He grabbed her before she could fall and warded off the blows she aimed at his face.

"Calm down! Gemma, _stop_!" He shook her once, hard, and she let out a cry. She fell against him. He ran a shaking hand over her hair. "It's okay. Try to breathe, Gem. We'll make it okay." He had no idea how, but right now he just needed her to calm the hell down.

Tara squirmed against her bonds and screamed at him through the gag. He gently pushed Gemma aside and tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants. He tugged the gag out of Tara's mouth and pulled his knife to start with the ropes.

"You crazy bitch!" Tara screamed at Gemma. "I didn't fucking rat!"

Gemma rushed at her and Juice threw out his arm to catch her.

"Everyone just calm the fuck down!" he barked. "Someone explain what happened here, because as it is this is the most confusing, fucked up thing I've ever walked in on."

Tara subsided with a snarl. "She didn't do this," she admitted, reluctantly. "She was just going to take advantage of the situation by putting a bullet in my head when I couldn't fight back."

He cast a look at Gemma. She held up her hands. "I got here and Roosevelt was dead. Tara was like you saw her. I don't know what happened. _Justice_, looks like to me. Fuckin' traitor bitch."

"Eli was helping me get some stuff together when two guys broke in. They tied us up and shot him in the back of the head. They were about to kill me when they heard the truck outside and ran off." She jerked her head toward the counter. "They left that."

Juice frowned and left her, mostly still bound but partially freed, to get a closer look. It was a postcard. There was a picture of a city skyline on the front, and a peach in one corner that said _Welcome to Atlanta_. His blood went cold. He flipped it to read the back, but it was blank.

Gemma's eyes slid from Juice to Tara. He had his back to them, and he seemed absorbed by whatever had been left on the counter. Her head pivoted toward the gun she'd dropped. It was within reach if she moved fast.

Tara followed Gemma's look and her eyes went wide. "Juice!"

He spun around, but it was too late. Gemma had the weapon in her hand. She pulled the trigger as Juice tackled her. The shot was loud in the small room, deafening, and it left them both reeling. He held her against the floor and glared down at her.

"I told you she _didn't_. Fucking. _Rat_! Jax made a deal to keep her and the boys safe. Jesus Christ, Gemma, you're out of control."

He took the weapon from her and clambered to his feet. He turned toward Tara to ask if she were okay and froze. She was slumped over, bleeding from the head. Her eyes were open and staring.

"Holy shit. Holy goddamn shit."

Behind him Gemma sobbed.

He scrubbed both hands over his face. Jax would kill Gemma for this. He might make her suffer first. He would be out of his mind, and Juice couldn't blame him. How would he react if it were Olivia on the floor?

Through the clamor Juice could hear Clay's voice in his head.

_Thank you for today, brother_.

_It's Gemma. Gemma's the only thing that matters anymore_.

He shuddered and smacked his palms against his skull. He'd failed Olivia, broken his promise to her, but maybe it wasn't too late to make it up to Clay. He turned around and held out his hand.

"Let's go," he said, quietly.

* * *

"Jackson," she said and touched him lightly on the arm, "can we talk a sec?"

He studied her through suspicious, narrowed eyes. He liked Ollie. He always had. But he didn't trust Juice, and by association that made it hard for him to trust her. She'd done good things for the club, and no doubt she was an amazing mechanic, but lately he wondered where her allegiances truly were. It didn't help she'd been spending so much time with Tara but claimed she'd known nothing about the faked pregnancy or miscarriage—or Tara's attempt to make a deal.

"Yeah," he finally said. "Let's take a walk." He handed Thomas to Chibs and fell in step beside her as they left the old ice cream shop. He matched his pace to hers, shortening his much longer stride so that she didn't have to hurry to keep up. "What's on your mind?"

She cut her eyes up at him. "What did Nero tell you? About last night?"

Jax stopped. Turned slowly to pin her with a cold glare. "What do you know about Nero and me?"

"I know all's not well. Doesn't take a genius to see that much." She walked on, and he had no choice but to follow her.

"So what's your stake in it?" he said after a quiet moment.

"Same as my stake in anything to do with this club: Juice. He didn't betray you, Jax."

He thrust his hands in his pockets. "I find that hard to believe, Ollie. Juice and I were the only ones who knew about the girl, and now Nero knows. Who else could've told him?"

"I did. I'm the one who told him." She let out a delicate snort at his incredulous expression. "She shot me, Jax. You think Juice wasn't gonna give me the truth about what happened? That was the only thing that made it even semi-okay for him."

"Your old man is fucking unstable, Olivia. He's a danger to this club. Now you're telling me you are, too?"

"If that's how you want to see it." A long sigh. "Listen. Juice was pretty fucked up last night. He drank an entire bottle of tequila and took some of Bobby's oxy and headed to Diosa. Apparently he passed out and scared the poor girl half to death when she came in to give him his massage. Gemma was worried, so she called me.

"By the time I got there he was still mostly out, and he kept muttering in his sleep about that girl. That he was sorry. Nero was getting spooked, starting to ask questions, so I told him I asked Juice to kill her. Because she fucking shot me."

Jackson shook his head once, hard. "Bullshit, Ollie. Nero _told_ me Juice said I ordered it."

She paused. Nero had told her the opposite: that he'd left Juice's name out of it like he'd promised her. So which one of them was lying?

"Juice said no such thing," she said. "I can tell you that Nero didn't believe me. He asked if it was you, if you'd made the call. I said I didn't know."

She stepped closer, and despite being a foot shorter than he, was somehow up in his face. The frightened, cowering Olivia from a few days ago was gone. The woman in front of him now had a spine of steel and nothing to lose. He recognized the look of it in her blazing green eyes.

"Think about it, Jax. He's pissed about the girl. He thinks you ordered Juice to kill her. So he tells you that's what Juice said: not only does he fuck your shit up, he gets you to kill Juice _for_ him. He comes out smelling like a rose while you have everyone's blood on your hands."

"I already have everyone's blood on my hands," he said, roughly.

"No shit. But if you let the guys kill Juice for this, you'll just be adding to it for no goddamn reason."

He blinked down at her. "Why are you telling me this?" he said.

She sighed and stepped back. Turned away so that she could see in the shop window down the block. The guys were all there, and Jax' boys. It was a sweet scene. Unlikely and incongruous, but sweet. Juice was playing with Thomas. Chibs and Abel were building something from blocks. The others were drinking beer, laughing, messing around with the kids' toys.

"Why do you think, Jax? There comes a point in everyone's life when we look at what we've built and wonder why." A pause. Then, "You're learning that it's impossible to serve two masters. Can you love both your family _and_ your club? Can you sacrifice for both of them? Make both of them your priority? No. You have to pick one. Today, you chose."

"I'm giving myself up for my family _and_ my club."

She glanced back with an ironic arch to her brow. "Hhhmm. You could've killed Tara today. You could've had one of the guys do it. She was planning to rat; they would've done it. _That_ would've been choosing your club. But walking away? Going to prison and letting Tara take the boys out of Charming? No, Jackson. You're choosing them. Ultimately, you're choosing family over brotherhood."

He shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "That doesn't exactly answer my question."

She slowly pivoted toward him, and her bright eyes were clear and sad as they met his. "I chose last night. I don't have the same bonds of brotherhood with this club as you do, but I do have other ties. Other loyalties. I've sewn these guys up. Laughed with them. Comforted them. Beat their asses in poker." She shrugged a shoulder. "When it came down to it, I chose Juice. To protect Juice. He's my family, Jax. He's my Tara. If you want to send your club after someone, send them after me. I gave Nero enough rope to hang you with, no matter what I told him. He was never gonna believe I asked Juice to kill that girl."

Jax surged toward her, but she didn't flinch. Her even expression gave him pause, and as much as he might want to grab her and shake sense into her, he stopped himself. "You fucked us, Olivia! Nero thinks I looked him in the face and lied!"

"You _did_, Jax! Did you forget that detail? You ordered the death of an innocent woman and then you lied to your friend and business partner about it. You asked an unstable man who would do fucking _anything_ for you to kill that girl, and then you washed your hands of it."

She grabbed his hand in hers and squeezed, hard. Her fingers were strong, and he winced at the pressure. "You're like Lady MacBeth, Jax. You can never wash this stain away. Don't look at me with those judgmental eyes like it's _my_ fault! Like my choice was the wrong one. Would you rather me have let Juice tell him the truth? Because he might have. Not because he was ready to betray you, but because he was high and drunk and out of his head. Are you so eager to see another brother meet Mayhem that you'd rather believe it of Juice than me?"

He pulled his hand from her grasp and fell back. Scrubbed his face roughly and tugged at his hair. "The Mayans are moving into Stockton. The Byz Lats want to join up with them. We _need_ Nero on our side right now. Thanks to you—"

"Fuck you, Jackson Teller. I get so fucking sick of men doing stupid, thoughtless shit and then blaming a woman because she calls him on it. No. You're not gonna lay this at my door. If you and your club want to punish me in some way, then fine. Technically I ratted. I'll accept that judgement, even if it means death. But I will _not_ take the blame for _your_ mistakes."

His shoulders sagged and his arms fell to his sides like heavy dead things. He stared at her, his blue eyes clouded and confused.

"I don't understand. You're willing to die for this?"

"What would you do? What would you sacrifice to keep the people you love safe?" A wry chuckle. "I think today's events have answered that question."

"_I_ didn't sell out my club to do it!"

"They're not _my_ club! But Juice _is_ mine. That's the difference. I protected you and your fucking MC as best I could. It's not my fault you've done so many shitty, shifty things during your acquaintance with Nero that he was ready to believe the worst about you no matter what I said."

"I gotta take this to the table, Olivia," he said after a long, hard silence.

She raised her chin and set her jaw. "I know you do. Whatever they decide, fine."

"We don't vote on old ladies." He said it derisively, and she prickled.

"Then don't. Have a conversation about what a traitorous bitch I am and then shoot me in the head. I don't fucking care. I think they might want to hear my version of events, though."

He looked away. Back. "I'll tell them to give you a vote."

Her mouth quirked. "To see what Juice chooses when he's against the ropes. The club, or me. Yea or nay." She slid her cold fingers into her pockets and rocked back on her heels. "Do you know why I was so against the idea of being an old lady, Jax?"

"Because you're too fucking stubborn?"

"Please. Have you met your mother?" She shook her head. "No. It's because I knew Juice would always choose the club. I knew no matter what, his loyalties are to SAMCRO. I know what you're thinking, but the fact that he ratted at all is proof of it. That sounds crazy, but you weren't there. You aren't the one who put him back together again. I was. I am. He betrayed Clay—a man who was like a father to him—over and over for you. He looked Clay in the eye and took that gun knowing full well what you planned. Yesterday Clay put his arms around him and _thanked_ him—and Juice knew he'd voted yes _twice_.

"Don't tell me Juice won't choose the club, Jax. He'll choose the club every fucking time, no matter what it does to him. He'll choose the club until it kills him. Until he burns out and blows away like ash on the wind."

"He's unstable and can't be trusted," he said through gritted teeth.

"He's wounded and needs his family. If I have to fucking die to show you where his true loyalties lie, then so be it." She looked away, and her voice became strained. "It's too late anyway," she said. "I'd rather die here, than—"

She broke off before she could say too much. She probably already had.

He grabbed her shoulder and spun her to face him. "What is going on with you? Since when are you so fucking morbid?"

She took a step back and let her lips curve in an acerbic little smile. "Not morbid," she said. "Practical. Talk to the guys. Tell them what happened. Call them off Juice, because I know you've already sic'd them. If you want to call a vote, fine. I just ask that I be there."

"That's not how it's done."

"I don't give a fuck how it's done. It's my life you're talking about. I have a right to face the men who would condemn me."

He was furious enough to strangle her, but he couldn't help but admire her balls. He dropped his chin and huffed out a frustrated laugh. "Fine," he said with weary resignation. "I'll tell them it has to happen tonight, as soon as I leave. Full table."

She hesitated. "You would do that for me?"

"I don't owe you a fucking thing," he said, "but maybe I do owe Juice."

"He's your brother, Jax. He would lie down on train tracks for you. More, he'd tie anyone you asked to those train tracks."

"Even you?"

"Even me."

* * *

_Again, my plea: TRUST ME. Remember what I said several chapters ago about women dying for manpain and how much I hate it? Yeah. Keep that in mind. KEEP IT VERY MUCH IN MIND because it applies to ALL THE LADIES._


	44. The Question

Let me begin by thanking everyone SO MUCH for the lovely reviews for ch43. :D I loved reading them!

More notes at the end. Now. On with the show...

* * *

**that girl is an answer  
to a question  
i'm afraid to ask  
that girl is an answer  
to a question  
i'm always afraid to ask  
and i'm always  
****and i'm always  
****and i'm always afraid**  
Jeremy Aggers, "The Question"

Once they were back inside Jax pulled Bobby and Chibs aside and filled them in on the conversation. Olivia watched them head upstairs and wondered if she'd just signed her own death warrant. She couldn't regret it. It was too fucking late for that. She'd made her choice, just like she'd told Jax. Of course, her choice had been to lie. To lie for Juice and for Chibs. And now _they_ had a choice to make, and she wanted to ensure Juice, at least, made the right one.

She touched Juice's arm and tilted her head toward the back of the shop. "Help me take out some of this trash?" she said.

He looked puzzled, but he nodded and slid off the stool. Tossed the toy in his hand to Tig and tickled Thomas. Grinned at the little boy's giggles. She watched with the hint of a smile that grew wider when he turned toward her.

"You know you want one," Tig said to her over Juice's head.

Juice had his back to Tig, so the other man didn't see the way his expression changed. She shook her head just a little at the quiet intensity on Juice's face and smiled at Tig. "No thanks. Kids are harder to figure out than the internal combustion engine. I think I'll stick to that."

"That and she already has to keep track of Juice. She doesn't need _two_ kids to take care of," Happy said.

Juice cast a dirty look over his shoulder. "Funny, man."

She gave a rueful shrug. "When he's right he's right, Juicy. C'mon. Let's get that trash before Jax is ready to go."

She spun away before the tears that threatened could get the better of her. In an hour, maybe more, maybe less, these same men would be voting to kill her. One of them would pull the trigger. Maybe Tig. Maybe Happy. Hell, maybe they'd make Juice do it. Hopefully they wouldn't be that cruel, but she honestly had no idea.

Juice followed her to the back, but there were no trash bags. He frowned, but before he could say anything she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the workshop. "What's wrong?" he said after a quick glance at her face.

She pressed her fingers to her eyes and stood very still. Took several long, deep breaths until she was sure she could speak without her voice cracking. "I've done something you're _really_ not going to like."

He studied her with sharp, probing eyes. After everything that had gone down that day he wasn't sure what kind of bombshell she might have for him, but he knew it was bad. Really fucking bad. "What? What did you do, Olivia?"

She let it all out in a rush. "I told Jax you were wasted last night and babbling in your sleep. I said Nero was starting to flip, so I told Nero that I asked you to kill the girl. Because she shot me."

There was a long, incredulous silence. She hurried to fill it.

"I told him Nero didn't seem to believe me, but that wasn't my fault. I told him I tried to protect the club, but ultimately my priority was protecting you. You didn't rat on him; I did."

He could only stare at her, horrified. Tears sprang to his eyes and she brushed her fingers across his mouth as he opened it to speak.

"Just listen, Juice. Please." She told him what Jax had said about the vote, and that she had asked to be there. His expression became harder as she talked, and by the time she was done she was nearly crying again. "The vote is for you, babe. He doesn't give a fuck about me at this point, but he has to know where your loyalties lie."

"Olivia, there's no way—"

"No! _Listen_ to me. You _will_ vote yes. It's the only way, Juice. You have to prove that you care more about the club than you do me. You have to prove that they're your priority, and that you would do anything for them. You have to prove you're as willing to kill me as Jax was to kill Tara."

"Jax wasn't willing to kill Tara!"

"I think he would have, Juice. If y'all hadn't found her in time, I think he might've."

"Fuck," he muttered. He clasped his head in his hands and dropped to kneel on the concrete floor. "Fuck, Olivia. You can't ask me to do this."

She crouched down and grasped his wrists. Gently pried his hands away from his skull and held them. "Listen to me, Juice Ortiz," she said again. "I made a choice. Don't cheapen it by throwing all my work away. You vote yes. You show them where your loyalties lie and shut them up. I don't give a fuck what happens to me. It's you I care about."

"This's my fault. I shouldn't have gone to Diosa. If I'd just come home—"

"It doesn't matter," she said. She tugged him closer. Wrapped her arms around him and stroked the back of his neck. "None of that matters, baby."

"If I vote yes, they'll kill you. I'm the only chance you have at a _no_."

He couldn't see her face, but he felt her lips move as she grimaced. "You sure know how to comfort a girl at the hour of her death, Juicy."

He grasped her shoulders and pushed her away. Squeezed her arms so hard she yelped. "This isn't funny, Olivia! I voted yes for Clay—twice! I found those papers and took that gun. I was gonna kill that girl! I've done all of that to try to atone, and none of it matters. None of it fucking matters to them. Now you're asking me to throw you to the fucking wolves like _you_ don't matter. How can I do that? How, Liv!?"

"You'll do it because I'm asking you to, Juicy." She pressed her palms to his face. "You'll do it because as much as you loved Clay, and as sad as it was to kill a pretty, lost young woman, all of that pales in comparison to choosing your club over your old lady. It's the line in the sand, babe."

"You're not just an old lady," he said. "You're more than that to this club."

"Yeah, so, maybe I'll get lucky and pull a nay. Maybe they'll remember the buckshot I took or the stitches I've put in them or how many times I've put their bikes back together. Maybe they'll look down at the table and remember I'm the one who patched up the mess Eli made. Or, I don't know, Juice. Maybe none of that'll matter."

She let out a soft sigh and rose. Reached a hand down to him. He looked up at her strong, pale fingers and was reminded forcefully of the scene at Jax' house that afternoon. He'd done the exact same thing to Gemma. But Gemma probably couldn't keep him safe from the club's vengeance if they thought he'd ratted Jax out to Nero. Hell, Gemma was such a mess she could barely keep herself safe. She'd need someone to look out for her over the coming weeks—months, even—and he couldn't do that if he were dead.

And Liv? He could let the club sentence her to death so he could be around to protect _Gemma_? He accepted her hand and pulled himself to his feet. He needed to tell her about Tara. About Eli. About what he'd done for Gemma. Would she be so willing to sacrifice herself for him if she knew? She loved Tara, and while she respected Gemma, she also didn't trust her. He wondered if she would understand why he'd done it.

Probably. She knew how he'd felt about Clay, and how betraying Clay again and again had led him to such a dark place last night. Gemma was Clay's old lady. The club's mama bear. By protecting Gemma, Juice was trying to make things right with Clay. To do what Clay would have wanted him to do. It was the only thing he had left to offer.

Olivia was right: he had to choose. His loyalties were split three ways, and it was too much. He was tired of the suspicion on Jax' face. Of constantly having to prove himself, even though Jax said he didn't. He was tired of being given the jobs no one else wanted. If he voted the way she wanted him to, if he condemned her, maybe that would stop. They would see how much he loved the club.

They would never know—he would never _let_ them know—how much he loved Olivia Gable. How much that vote would cost him. He would do it because she asked it of him, and because by seemingly choosing the club, it really meant he was choosing her.

Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe they could still run. They could walk out the back door right now and—

He could tell by the look on her face she knew what he was thinking. She said she didn't want to run anymore, and if they left now that's exactly what they'd be doing. For the rest of their lives.

His shoulders slumped and he let out a hard, resigned sigh. "I'll always choose you, Liv," he said. "It's no contest."

"Good," she said. She swiped the wetness from her cheeks and smiled up at him. She wanted to say more, but she couldn't find the words. More tears fell, and he brushed them away with his thumb.

"Why are you doing this, Olivia? Why would you be so ready to die?"

He knew, though. The postcards. The one at Tara's house had been blank, so he figured she must've gotten some already that weren't. She'd been about to tell him something this morning before Jax called. Could it have been that? He thought so. He wondered if she'd tell him now.

It was the same question Jax asked her. From him it was something she could deflect, but from Juice it hit home. She took a step back, shying away from his touch, and dropped his gaze. "I'm not. It's not like I'm looking forward to this. I'm hoping someone votes no. It just can't be you."

His eyes narrowed. "That's a big fucking risk to take."

She disregarded that with a flick of her fingers. "I've been living on borrowed time since I did this," she said and tapped her wrist. "Not because I was trying to die that night, but because I knew eventually all that old shit would catch up with me. You can't run forever."

There was a cold hollowness in her tone that sent a shiver through him. Before he could form a reply, the door opened.

"There you are," Chucky said. "Jax is about to leave. I know you didn't want to miss saying goodbye."

Juice didn't take his eyes off Olivia. "Thanks, Chucky," he said.

Olivia brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and squared her shoulders. "Right behind you," she said.

His look darted from Juice to her and back again, but at last he nodded. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but for once he resisted the urge and disappeared back inside.

She started toward the door, but Juice grabbed her hand. "I love you, Olivia, and you're mine."

She spun around and into his arms. Held his face in her hands and kissed him hard. "I love you too, Juan Carlos. You're mine, and that's never gonna change. No matter how the vote falls out."

* * *

Olivia stayed in the shop with Chucky as Jax and the guys said goodbye out on the sidewalk. They watched as Jax hugged each of them in turn, and she heard Chucky sniffle more than once. When Jax hugged Juice, she saw him whisper something…and the look on Juice's face when they pulled apart made her heart stutter. She let out a soft curse and wrapped her arms around her middle.

She knew she wouldn't have a chance to ask him about it, either, because as soon as Jax' bike disappeared around the corner, the glass door opened and the guys filed back in. Chibs handed Thomas off to Chucky and Bobby got Abel settled at a table with his coloring book and some crayons, and then the new club president nodded toward her.

"Ollie, lass," Chibs said, "we should have a chat."

He gestured for her to lead the way upstairs, and she could hear their heavy tread on the stairs behind her. Her hands shook. Had she miscalculated? Was all this for nothing? If Jax hadn't bought her lie then they would kill Juice anyway. There was a chance—a tiny chance, but still a chance—that someone would vote _no_ for her, but once they heard Juice's story, he was as good as dead.

She rubbed her palms against the thighs of her jeans as the club settled around the long redwood table. The guys who didn't know what was going on—that is, everyone except Bobby, Chibs, and Juice—looked confused, and they kept casting her curious, sidelong glances.

"All right, boys, settle down," Bobby said. He clapped the gavel and an instant hush fell. "I'm gonna cut right to it. Before he left, Jax brought a possible problem to our attention." He drew in a long breath and glanced carefully at each man in turn. "It seems we might have a rat on our hands."

"Tara?" Tig said. "No, Jax said—"

"Not Tara," Chibs interrupted.

He lifted his head and pinned Olivia with a gimlet eye. Several seconds passed as they made sense of it, and slowly each of them turned to stare at her. Their expressions ranged from disbelief to dawning anger and everything in between. She clenched her hands behind her back so they wouldn't see their trembling and squared her shoulders.

"Olivia," Bobby said, his voice heavy, "you wanna tell us what went down last night?"

She lifted a brow. Her voice was cool and calm when she spoke, and it gave no indication of her fear. "I told Nero I asked Juice to kill that girl. The one who shot me. The school shooter's mother."

"Wait, hang on," Tig said. "That girl OD'd." He spun around in his chair. "Right, Juicy? You gave her the dose. It was an accident."

Juice's eyes flicked from Olivia to Tig, and he shook his head. "No. Jax ordered me to kill her. I gave her the drugs and then I smothered her with a pillow."

"_Jax_ did that?" Happy said.

"He didn't bring it to the table!" said Tig.

"He told Nero it was an accidental OD," said Juice, "but that was a lie."

Chibs cleared his throat. "Jax made a rash decision, and then he lied about it. That's an issue we'll have to sort out with Nero." He paused. "Also, to clarify, Juicy didn't kill her. I did, so he wouldn't have to."

Happy snorted. "I'm the fuckin' sergeant at arms. Why didn't Jax have me do it?"

Chibs lifted his hands in a shrug. "He wanted to keep it a secret, lad. But it wasn't Juice's responsibility to do the club's dirty work."

"I don't understand," Tig said. "How'd you find out? Did Jax tell you?"

Chibs' eyes met Olivia's for a brief second. Then, "I walked in at the wrong time. Jax doesn't know I was involved."

The room exploded, and Bobby cracked the gavel to quiet them. "Did you know all this, Olivia?"

"I did," she said, evenly.

"And you didn't tell Nero that part?"

She scowled. "Why the fuck would I bring Chibs' name into it? Obviously Juice was involved, and me, and Jax because he calls the shots, but no one mentioned Chibs. No reason to muck it up even more."

There was a pause. Chibs shifted in his chair and avoided her gaze. There was precious little he could do to help her at this point, and he knew she would never have mentioned his involvement and how she'd covered it up. It was the only lifeline he could offer, and the only excuse the club would accept if he ultimately voted _nay_.

"Nero wouldn't have known any of it if you hadn't told him it wasn't an OD," Bobby said.

"Why would you tell him that?" Tig said, his face twisted. "This club's been good to you. Jax has been good to you. Why would you go behind his back like that?"

"First, I didn't set out to betray Jax or the club. Like I said, I told him _I_ asked Juice to kill her." She patted her hip. "Because she shot me."

"And he just didn't believe you?" Rat said.

"I guess not."

"Hence the issue today," Bobby said with a heavy sigh. He waved a hand. "I'm confused. How did this topic even come up? You guys were just shootin' the shit and you said, 'Oh, by the way, about that girl you were so protective of…'?"

"It was because of me," Juice said before she could reply. "I got drunk last night, high as shit, and I went to Diosa." He tapped his fingers against the table. "Gemma called Olivia because I was so fucked up I passed out."

There was a ripple of laughter and snorts around the table.

"Yeah, it was fuckin' hilarious," he said. "I guess while I was out of it I said something about the girl."

"He told Nero he was sorry for what happened to her," Olivia said.

They all spun toward her like they were watching a tennis match.

"Nero flipped. He was ready to go beat Jackson's face in right then. I got him calmed down and told him Juice did it for me."

"You couldn't've just told him Juice was fucked up and felt guilty that he gave her the shot that caused the OD?" Bobby said.

Her lips curved. "He didn't buy that I asked Juice to do it. You think he woulda bought that pile of bullshit? Please. Nero is smart, and he's already had it up to here with the club's—specifically Jackson's—fuckery. What happened to Clay hit him hard. I was there last night; y'all weren't."

"But you didn't mention Chibs?" Tig asked again.

"I already told you I didn't. Did _Jax_ mention Chibs when he told you all of this?" she said to Bobby.

"No. His name didn't come into it."

She made a _like I said_ gesture. "Look. I'm not making excuses. I should've kept my mouth shut. But Juice had no idea what he was saying. He was barely even conscious. Nero was starting to ask questions, and I figured it would be better if I intervened before he could say too much without even realizing it."

"So what we've learned here is that Juice drinks like a little bitch," Happy said.

"Fuck you, man," he said. "It was a full bottle of Cuervo."

"Thank you, Olivia," Bobby said. "We'll deliberate and have a vote, and we'll let you know our decision."

She shot Juice a quick look. "I thought—that is, Jax said—"

"Jax isn't here, lass," Chibs said. "He asked for a vote, so we're givin' you one. He left everything else up to us."

She wasn't stupid enough to protest again. "Thank you for hearing me out," she said. She turned smartly on her heel and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her, and headed downstairs.

A deep silence followed her exit. Finally, Happy said, "We're seriously gonna vote on an old lady?"

"She's been an asset to this club longer than she's been an old lady," Bobby said in a low rumble.

"So we'd vote on Chucky?" Rat said.

"Chucky becomes an old lady, a mechanic, a medic, tries his damnedest to get us outta RICO, and takes a hip full of buckshot, we'll see. Besides, Jax asked for a vote. I told him we'd do it. So here we are." Bobby turned his attention to Juice. "Did it happen like she said?"

He sighed and ran a hand over his head. "Man, I don't know. I don't remember. I was havin' this weird dream about bein' at church, and the priest kept hittin' me in the face."

"I'm guessin' Nero was the priest," Chibs said with a snort.

Juice shrugged. "He was really brown."

"Okay, okay," Tig said with a wave of his hand. "So the issue is whether or not we kill Ollie for telling Nero…what? A lie?"

"A lie that was still too close to the truth," Happy said. "She didn't have to tell him anything. She coulda just said Juice was full of shit and then dragged him outta there before he could say anything else."

"I was basically unconscious, Hap. _You_ coulda dragged me outta there, but she's barely over five feet."

"A rat's a rat, no matter how tall they are," Happy said. "I say we vote."

A brief, heavy silence. Then, "All for Olivia Gable meeting Mr. Mayhem?" Bobby said. He pointed at Tig to get them started.

Tig, startled and momentarily taken aback by this breach of protocol, rubbed a hand down his face and shook his head. "Fuck. I don't like it, but…yea."

Happy: yea.

Rat: yea.

And on it went, around the table. Juice barely hesitated before he put in his _yea_ vote, though if his voice thickened they all pretended not to notice.

When it was his turn Chibs scowled down at the table. Olivia should have kept her mouth shut. He hated a fuckin' rat. At this point how she felt about Juice made her a liability more than an asset.

All of that was true, and it mattered. But Chibs couldn't forget how she'd stood up for them before. He couldn't discount the fact that she'd left him out of it. If she'd told Nero that part, and Nero had taken it to Jax—well. It would have seriously undermined Jax' faith in his second, and the club was already hanging by a thread.

He shook his head and knocked his knuckles against the table. "Nay. She's earned another chance."

Bobby's head had been bowed during the entire process. Technically, since Chibs had already voted no, his vote was moot. But he wanted them to know how he felt about it. Now he lifted his chin and made a careful study of each man around the table. He winced when he shifted in his seat, the movement tugging at his stitches, and maybe it was that reminder that did it. He owed her his life. Tara, too, because she'd been the one actually cutting…but if Ollie hadn't been there with her steady hands and her quiet calm, he probably would've bled out in the back of that truck before Tara could help him at all.

"Nay," he said, his voice gruff. He banged the gavel and coughed. "It's not unanimous. No Mayhem for Olivia."

"So that's it?" Happy said. "She rats and no consequences?"

"I didn't say that," Bobby said.

Tig pushed away from the table, hands raised. "I'm not beatin' a woman. A bullet in the head is one thing, but I won't fuckin' beat her, man."

"No," Juice said, "a beating wouldn't work anyway." He made a face as they stared at him. "I don't mean I know from personal experience. I just mean she's—it would just piss her off. You're talkin' about a woman who stabbed a guy in the foot with a hip half full of buckshot. She got that tattoo on her wrist to cover up scars because eight years ago she sliced her own wrist open with a fucking steak knife so she could get locked in a psych ward to escape her crazy ex. And we all know what happened to him."

"All right, Romeo," Bobby said, "since you know her so well, what would you recommend?"

He drummed his fingers against the table as he considered. Finally, "Cut her hair."

"Her _hair_?" Happy said into the incredulous silence. "What are we, fuckin' Paul Mitchell?"

"Her hair is like that for a reason," Juice said patiently. "Her mom died when Olivia was fifteen, and as soon as she got away from the psycho ex, she started growing her hair out. To look like her mother, and because he made her keep it short. It's not just hair to her."

His jaw was tight as he spoke, and he wondered if he were making a huge mistake. She would be furious. Hurt. Betrayed. But it wouldn't _physically_ hurt her, and it would grow back. Hopefully she would understand why he'd suggested it. He didn't want her beaten. He didn't know what the other options were, and he didn't want to consider them. He knew they wouldn't consider any form of sexual violence—that wasn't something any of them would ever do—but there were a lot of ways a man could damage a woman, especially a woman like Olivia. She was tough, but not nearly as tough as she pretended.

"Some of us are really attached to our hair, Hap," Tig said.

"It sounds stupid, but trust me. It's a message she'll—not appreciate, exactly—but understand. It'll get the point across."

"Okay," Bobby said after a moment. "All in favor?"

A chorus of muted yeas sounded, and Bobby banged the gavel. He pointed it at Juice. "You're up, lover boy."

He opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again, hard. Of course it had to be him. Would they have made him kill her if the vote had fallen out that way? He hoped to hell not. He gave a grim nod and rose. Silence followed him out the door and down the stairs, and he stopped a moment to catch his breath before he stepped into the shop.

* * *

_So, well. No Mayhem, but this probably isn't gonna be pretty._

_I do think many of you will be VERY SURPRISED by some things that happen next chapter. That makes me giddy with excite._

_Also, originally Bobby was the only nay vote, but then I rearranged some things and basically made Chibs' behavior over the s6 arc actually, ya know. In character. So by now I couldn't really see him voting yea. Especially after she covered for him._


	45. Overcome

"Olivia's gonna flip when Juice cuts her hair! I can't wait!" You guys are cruel and I love you all.

So. We now enter uncharted territory. Here goes.

* * *

**i'm a little bit wiser**  
**i'm a little bit sadder**  
**i'm a little bit less you might have guessed**  
**but if you could be stayin'**  
**tell me now, darlin', i think i'm fading**  
**i swear i'll never trade your life for a lie**  
Better Than Ezra, "Overcome"

She was there alone, tinkering with one of the milkshake machines. When she saw him she dropped the screwdriver and her face went ghostly pale. "They sent you?" she whispered.

"Come here, Olivia. To the back. Away from the windows."

Her eyes were big and dark in her chalky face. She lowered her head a moment, and when she looked up again her expression was blank. "Yeah," she said, "yeah, okay."

He waited for her to proceed him into the workshop, and he shut the door behind them. She spun toward him. Her brow creased in confusion when she saw the knife in his hand. He stepped closer, and to her credit she didn't back away. Tears stood out in his eyes. The muscles danced in his jaw. He reached over her shoulder and started pulling pins from her hair.

"Juice, what—?"

"I'm not here to kill you," he said.

"Ohh," she said on a relieved breath. Her glance darted to the knife and back to his face.

He flicked the last pin away and pulled the heavy red-gold braid over her shoulder. Understanding dawned, and she gasped.

"No, Juice. No, please."

"It'll grow back, Liv," he said. "They would want me to beat you. Like Chibs did to me. Like Clay did to Gemma. You think I can do that?"

Her chin trembled. "Are you safe?" she said in a raw rasp.

"I think so," he said. His mouth quirked in a tight, ironic grimace. "Unless they're talkin' about me right now. But I think I'm okay."

He pressed the knife against her hair and she closed her eyes.

"Look at me," he said.

"I can't."

"Please, sweetheart, look at me."

She did, finally, and her normally clear green eyes were hazy with fear and hurt.

"You'd rather die than this? You'd rather me cut your throat than your hair?" His voice turned angry through the last sentence, and he tugged the braid hard enough to make her wince. "It's just _hair_, Olivia. What the fuck is worth dying for? Not me. Not this. I don't need my old lady to protect me."

Her mouth hardened and a spark burned away the fog. "You've tried to kill yourself _twice_, Juice. Twice in less than a year. Don't tell me you don't need _someone_ to look out for you, because you sure as fuck refuse to look out for yourself."

He used her hair to drag her closer until they were nose to nose. "I was lost last night, Liv. After everything that went down with Clay and all the shit from the club…and I didn't have you. I pushed you away and when I tried to get you back you told me you needed _time_. What was I supposed to think?"

She jerked her head back despite his grip. "I also told you you can always come home to me. I meant that, Juice. I watched Jax shoot his stepfather in cold blood yesterday. I watched knowing full well it's how the club _voted_ for things to go down. You think I could just shrug that off?"

"Tara did!"

"Tara did fucking _not_, Juice! She was going to the Feds. She was taking her boys and getting the hell outta Dodge. This life is _your_ life, not mine. I never wanted to be involved with this club. Never."

"Then why are you?"

She slapped him and he jerked her hair. She let out a cry of pain and he yanked again.

"Why, Olivia? Why the fuck are you here? You said you run when things get heavy. _Why are you still here?_"

"Because I fell in love with you, asshole! You _know_ that. Your shit is my shit. You're mine, you fucking moron, and I'm yours. You want me to run, then fine. Fuck you. I'm halfway out the door. But don't play games with me. Don't tell me you love me and then bail when you can't handle your shit. I'm here to _help you_. I'm here instead of Cuervo and oxy."

Her voice hitched on a sob and she poked him hard in the chest. "Don't you ever do that again, Juice Ortiz. I don't care how fucked up things get. You _promised_ me! You promised!"

"You were ready to let the club kill you, Olivia!"

"If you can throw your life away for nothing then I can give mine up to keep you safe!"

"I never _asked_ you—"

"Of course you fucking didn't!" She clutched his cut so tight her knuckles were turning white, and her freckles stood out like sparks across her cheeks. "It wouldn't have occurred to you to ask. That's why I did it."

She lowered her head to his chest. "Just do it, Juice. It's just hair."

"No," he said, "you don't get to do that. You don't get to give up. They wanted you dead five minutes ago, and one wrong step and we're both fucked. I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you and I meant it. I voted like you wanted, and now I'm gonna do this because I don't have any other choice. For _both_ of us. But you gotta be pissed at me. Hit me again if you want to. Yell at me. You can't just accept it like it's nothing."

She glared up at him and shoved. He was so surprised that he stumbled, but his grip on her hair didn't let up and she fell against him. He lowered his head and captured her mouth. She bit his lip. He cursed.

"Just _do it_," she hissed.

He kept the blade sharp, so it sawed through the thick rope of hair with relative ease. She let out a sigh as the pressure lifted from her skull, and he opened his hands to let both braid and knife drop. She tangled her fingers in the front of his shirt and kissed him again. Her teeth were rough against the tender place she'd bitten and he moaned into her mouth.

He shoved her back against the wall. Fisted a hand in her newly shorn hair and yanked her head back so he could mouth her neck. He nipped and licked and sucked a trail from collarbone to chin, heedless of the marks he left on her sensitive skin.

She fumbled with his belt, her hands uncharacteristically clumsy, and finally got it free with a hiss of triumph. She made short work of his fly, and a moment later the heel of her hand was pressed against his cock. Her other hand was on his shoulder, and she pushed him away even as she squeezed him through his shorts.

"You go to a brothel. You OD on stolen OxyContin. You cut my hair with a goddamn _knife_. Now you think you can push me up against a wall and I'm gonna get all wet for you? That I'm gonna let you _fuck_ me?"

His voice was hot and his hands were rough as he gripped her thighs and pulled one of them up and around him. "Yeah, I do. You're not just gonna let me, baby. You're gonna beg me. You want it as bad as I do."

She squeezed him hard enough to make him wince, and his breath came in pants as her grip relaxed. "Fuck you!" she said on a hiss.

"That's the idea." He jerked her jeans down and ripped her panties away. "You're mine, Olivia," he rasped against her mouth.

She freed him from his underwear and tugged him closer. Her legs went around his waist and he squeezed her hips hard enough to leave handprints on her skin. "You're _mine_, Ortiz." She kissed him, a violent meld of lip on lip and tongue scraping against tongue.

She was so wet he slid into her easily, one long rough thrust that buried him to the hilt. She moaned and dug her nails into his scalp. He didn't pause for her to catch her breath, but immediately set a hard, almost punishing rhythm. His fingers bruised her thighs and his teeth nipped at her throat, and she panted his name in uneven, desperate gasps.

He caught one of her hands and pressed it against her clit. "Come for me," he said.

"I can't," she moaned. "I can't!"

"Yes you can." He shifted her to adjust the angle. "Come for me, baby."

She pressed her forehead to the curve of his neck. Her voice was so muffled he could barely understand her, but once he decoded her words a smile spread across his face.

"Tell me you love me, Juicy," she said, and he grinned like a mad man.

"Always, Livvie. I love you. I'm yours. You're mine." He punctuated each word with a hard thrust, and she bit him on the shoulder as he said _mine_. "That's right, babe. That's it," he said.

Her legs tightened around his waist, her heels pressing his ass, and she let out a soft cry. Her head fell back and his eyes stayed steady on her face as he felt her clench around him."Yes, like that, yes!" she whimpered. He didn't stop as she came, even moved faster as the orgasm rocked through her. He ran his hand down to join hers on her clit, and his touch was rough enough to send her over the edge again.

"Fuck, baby," he muttered through gritted teeth. He jerked his hips into her and his control snapped. He braced himself against the wall with one hand and rode out his own orgasm with slow, easy thrusts and sharp, desperate gasps.

After what seemed like forever they tumbled against each other in a sweaty, panting tangle. He soothed the angry red marks on her throat with his lips and tongue and she ran her fingers along the curve of his skull.

"I love you, Juice," she said once she had enough breath.

He raised his head, brow furrowed and jaw tight. "I would never have fucked her."

She frowned a little and pushed him away. Unwrapped her legs and dropped to the floor. "I know that," she said. She tugged her torn panties off and used them to clean herself up.

"Not just because I was so fucked up. I wouldn't have anyway. I didn't even go there…for that. Not really."

She pulled her pants up and fixed her shirt. Ran a hand back and forth through her hair with a strange little frown. She fetched a ponytail holder from her pocket and secured it around the loose end of the braid coiled on the floor. "I know that, Juice," she said. She sighed. "I wonder if I can donate this. Surely some little redhead out there could really use it."

He watched her as he set his own clothes to rights. Her hair now came to just above her shoulders, and it was shorn in a ragged, uneven line. He ran a hand over her head as she knelt on the floor. "There's something I should tell you."

She glanced up at him with a rueful smile. "There's more?"

His brow quirked. "It's about Tara. It's…bad."

She slowly rose to her feet. "Was Jax lying about that, too? About the deal and letting her go and _everything_?"

"No, no he meant it." Juice took a deep breath and didn't look away as he said, "Tara's dead, Liv. Gemma killed her."

She stared at him. She wasn't entirely sure she'd heard him correctly. It was too…big. Too much. She blinked. "I don't understand," she finally said.

"Jax sent me to find Gemma. To tell her about the deal he made. I went to her place, and Wayne was there. He had told her Jax was going to jail, but he didn't know the details. She stole his truck."

She took a step back and he reached for her as she stumbled. She started to bat him away, but instead she grabbed his arm and squeezed. "She was at Jax and Tara's. You didn't find her in time."

"Eli was there, too." He swallowed hard. He hadn't decided how much to tell her, but finally he reached in his pocket and pulled out the postcard. "Eli was already dead, and Tara was tied up. Gemma had a gun on her."

She stared down at the colorful card in his hand. There was a roaring in her ears and she could barely hear what he was saying. The room spun around her. She thought she might faint. "Oh God, Juice," she murmured. She didn't bother to wipe away the tears that tracked down her cheeks.

"I tried to stop her. I _did_ stop her, but then she got the gun again and she—she shot her before I could get to her. I took the—" Here he had to pause to clear his throat. "I took the gun, and I got her into Unser's truck, and then I left."

"The card," she said. Her eyes hadn't left it.

"It was on the counter. Tara said some guys broke in and jumped them. They tied them up and killed Eli. They were about to kill Tara, but then Gemma showed up and they ran. They left this." He studied her. "You know who they were, don't you?"

Her head moved in a stunned nod. "I should have told you."

"How long?" he said, his voice hard.

"I got the first one—a few weeks ago. Before"—she made a vague gesture toward her stomach—"before. I've gotten a few since then. One today. Left at my house. I knew he was here."

"You were about to tell me this morning, weren't you? When I made you promise not to keep any more secrets."

Finally she looked at him. He barely recognized her. He'd never seen a look of such despair and loathing on her lively face. He knew it wasn't him she hated: it was herself. She blamed herself for what had happened to Tara and Eli. Maybe she had a right to.

Now wasn't the time for recriminations, though. They both had choices to make.

"Olivia—"

"You covered for Gemma," she said. She tilted her head. "Why?"

He hesitated. "You said earlier that I had to make a choice. I already knew I'd failed you; I hadn't kept my promise to protect Tara. I couldn't fix that or make it better. I just kept thinking—I kept thinking about Clay. About how much he loved Gemma and how he kept fucking it up. I betrayed him, Liv. I let him down over and over."

He broke off with a sharp shake of his head. He opened his mouth to try again, but she stopped him.

"It wasn't—" She pressed a hand to her face a moment. "It wasn't your fault, what happened to her. It wasn't. You say you tried to stop Gemma and I believe you." Her fingers fluttered back to her side. She rubbed her thumb against the scar on her left wrist. "No good would come from even more death. And that's what would've happened if you'd turned Gemma over to Jax."

"I had to choose Clay," he choked out.

She nodded and looked away until she had control again. When she turned back the tears had dried up and her voice was steady. Steely. "And me?" she said. "I know that's the most selfish, ridiculous question I could ask right now, but what does that mean for me? For _you_ and me?"

"It means…" He trailed off. Pulled her to him and cupped her head in his hand. She was stiff and blank like a doll. "It means whatever, Olivia. I told you earlier I'll always choose you. I meant it. You want me to take all this to Jax or the club, I will. Whatever you want, I'll do. _You're_ mine. Gemma's not."

"No, Juice, fuck." She ran her free hand over his face and some life rekindled in her eyes. "We'll protect Gemma. You made that call and I'll go with it. I'm not as sure as you are that she deserves it, but there's no way in hell I'm going to have her blood on my hands. I'm sick of all the fucking _death_. It's too goddamn much."

She paused. "We'll give them Teddy. They won't be happy that I didn't come to them sooner, but…well, that's something we'll all have in common. I've still got the other cards, and you have that one. He's somewhere around, and he'll come for me soon."

She gulped in a long breath. "Thank you for telling me." She let go of his arm and knelt to retrieve the discarded braid. She handed it to him. "Take this upstairs. Let them know it's done. Then let's go home, baby, because I'm exhausted."

He pressed his forehead against hers and squeezed the back of her neck. Closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose to savor her unique perfume. "You and me?" he said.

"You and me."

* * *

She'd gotten in the shower (alone) the minute they got home. She stood under the hot spray and squeezed shampoo into her hand—the amount she always used—and as she stared at the puddle of soap the tears finally came. She squeezed a fist and shampoo squirted out between her fingers.

She smashed her balled hand into the tile wall again and again until she felt the ache down the entire length of her arm. She screamed, a sound of wordless, soul-rending _rage_ that ripped out of her and left her throat raw and her head spinning.

How dare they. How dare _any_ of them. She had promised herself a long time ago she would never live at a man's whim _ever_ again. They'd held a fucking _vote_ and cut her goddamn hair. _Her_ hair. _Hers_. She was furious, violated, and she knew that wasn't even why she was so upset.

Tara was dead. Tara was dead because Olivia had been too fucking stubborn to tell anyone about the postcards. Maybe if she had they could've found Teddy. They could've stopped him, and he wouldn't have gone after Tara. And Eli. Eli had probably just been collateral damage; Teddy would never suspect Olivia would care so much about a cop.

The ironic part was Olivia knew she was safe enough for now. Teddy would pick off the people she loved one by one. He wouldn't come for _her_ until he thought she was broken. Broken and alone.

She let the water pound against her face. It mingled with the tears and washed them away. She opened her eyes. The water stung and burned, but she didn't blink or flinch. The time for crying was done. Her fury and her fear had blinded her, made her stupid, and Tara and Eli were dead because of it.

The fear she discarded. It was suddenly easy, like shedding your clothes at the end of the day.

The rage she hugged close. She shaped it. Honed it. Sharpened it like a blade. It was her tool now, her weapon, and she would never let it control her again.

She washed her newly shorn hair and finished her shower in a state of detached calm. The anger had settled into the core of her, and it burned like ice: not hot, but cold. Impossibly, dangerously cold.

* * *

Even though it was barely after eight, Juice was already in bed when Olivia got out of the shower. It had been an exhausting and harrowing day. She pulled on a t-shirt and hip hugger panties. Ran a comb through her wet hair and met his eyes in the vanity mirror.

"At least it'll dry faster," she said. "And I'll save a shit ton on shampoo and conditioner."

He propped his chin in his hand and watched her. "Did I make the wrong call?" he said at last. "It was my idea. I couldn't think of anything else. I didn't want you—I didn't want anyone to hurt you."

She set the comb down and let out a sigh. Crawled into bed next to him and pressed her mouth against his. "You know I love you. Don't you, Juicy?""

"Yeah," he said, confused. "Of course I do."

"You did the best you could in shitty circumstances. I'm—not okay. I won't be okay for a long time. But I'm not mad at you, and I'm going to try as hard as I can not to _blame_ you. I'm not mad about the hair. It grows back."

He ran a hand over it. The ends were already starting to dry. "I know, baby. You hated having the choice made for you. I know I'll never understand what you've been through, but I _do_ understand how it feels to have no control over your own life."

Of all people, she knew he did. She brushed her fingers over his face and kissed him again.

"I think we'll be okay, Juicy. You and me. We've just gotta stick together. No more lies, no more secrets. I'm saying that to me probably more than I'm saying it to you."

He looked away. His jaw worked. When he looked back his eyes were a storm. "Don't ever make me do anything like this again, Olivia. Don't ever—no matter what happens, if I'm there again, I'm voting _no_. Hear me? I don't give a _fuck_ about the club. Not compared to you."

Her mouth curved. "That's not true. Of course you give a fuck. They're your family. But fair enough. I robbed you of your agency; you robbed me of mine. I'd say we're even."

He scowled. "This isn't a competition, Liv. It's a relationship."

She nodded, but there was a hardness to her face he didn't like. "There are only a few ways I can make any of this right in my head. That's one of them. I told you I'm not okay."

He took her face in his hands and rubbed his thumbs against her temples. "I love you, Olivia. You're mine."

She smiled then, a real smile. "I know, Juice. You're mine, and I love you too."

Their mouths met, briefly at first, and then with increasing ardor. Her fingers crept up his chest beneath his shirt. One of his hands rested against the small of her back, but she wiggled so that it slid down to her ass.

"Are you sure?" he murmured against her lips. "After earlier—"

"Earlier was just the pre-show," she breathed. "I need you, Ortiz. I know you need me, too."

"I do," he said. "God I do, so much."

"Then show me. And take your time about it."

She didn't have to ask twice. He rolled over so that he was on top of her, and his hand had just found her breast when they heard the sound of a rapidly-approaching motorcycle. His head dropped and he let out a long stream of curses.

"It's Chibs," she said and propped herself up on her elbows.

"Again? Jesus fucking Christ."

She grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm. "Raincheck, babe."

She slid out of bed and, not bothering with a robe, hurried to the door. On the way she practiced exclamations of horror: she had no doubt he was here about Tara, and she had to look shocked. The grief wouldn't be feigned.

She opened the door before he could knock, and he started in surprise. "I heard your bike," she said. "What are you doing here?" She stepped back so he could come in and locked up behind him.

He hesitated. Her hair—barely to her shoulders, and ragged with it—part of him wanted to mention it, to apologize somehow, but he had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate it. She seemed to read some of his thoughts on his face, because she lifted her chin and met his eye with a defiant glare. He looked away.

"Where's Juicy?" he said.

"Here," Juice said as he appeared from the hallway.

Chibs kicked off his boots and stepped into the living room. He spun in a circle and ran a hand through his own graying hair. "It's bad, laddie."

"What's wrong?" Olivia said. She went to stand with Juice, and he slipped an arm around her waist. She leaned against him just a little, and that gesture alone told him how upset she was.

"It's Tara," Chibs said, his mouth grim and set. "She's been shot."

"Shot?" Olivia said. "What—" She broke off as the significance of his words hit her: _shot_, he'd said, not _killed_. She swallowed hard. Had Juice been wrong? Was there a chance—

"Where is she now? Is she...?" Juice sounded as rattled as Olivia felt.

"St. Thomas. She's in surgery. They don't know how bad it is, not yet, but the doc said he's hopeful. Eli Roosevelt is dead. Mother of God, lass, sit down before you fall. You look like death."

Juice got her to the couch and she raised shaking fingers to her face. Her eyes were dry, and when she spoke again her voice was strange. Cold, and absent somehow. "I think I know who did it. I think I know why." She lifted her head. "You're not going to like it."

* * *

_Wait. What? Surgery?_

_No dead ladies, guys. It's my mantra._

_ALSO. Every "how to write" guide will tell you not to linger on things like how a character styles their hair, etc, unless there's a reason for it. I hope you guys now understand why I mentioned Olivia's hair practically every time she was "on screen."_

_Like I said in the opening notes, everything from here on out is uncharted. Always before I at least had the blueprint of the show to guide me. :) I'm ignoring everything I've heard about s7 bc it basically doesn't matter. My point is if you guys would like to drop me some encouraging reviews, I'd really love it! Workin' without a net here._


	46. Then Came You

I'm really excited about this part of the story (the last few chapters and the next several coming up), so I'm glad to hear you guys are, too!

I did inject a bit of levity into this chapter because things've been so heavy lately. Enjoy!

* * *

**when you walk in the noise disappears**  
**where you begin is perfectly clear**  
**all this time i felt so confused**  
**then came you  
and i just knew**  
Better Than Ezra, "I Just Knew"

Juice had gone into the kitchen to make coffee while Olivia retrieved the postcards from the drawer in her vanity. When she returned she spread them all out on the coffee table in the order she'd received them. Chibs studied them a long time, carefully examining each picture on the front and poring over the text on the back like it was _War and Peace_.

"Each postmark gets a little closer," he said.

"That, and they're all places I lived before coming to Charming."

"And all of these are sites in and around Atlanta, aye?"

"Yup."

He lowered himself into the chair and rubbed his chin. "Jesus Christ, lass. Why didn't you tell us?" He cast a look over his shoulder at Juice, who leaned against the kitchen doorjamb as he waited for the coffeemaker to beep.

He held up his hands. "I didn't know until tonight. We got home and that last one was tucked in the door."

"This blank one," Chibs said.

The one that had been left at Tara's—but of course he didn't know that.

"That's it." She pointed to the photograph. "Rat said that one was in the door when he got here this morning. It looks like it was probably there all night, judging by the state of the envelope."

"You were at Diosa last night."

"Mmhhmm. Not home to get his message."

"So Juicy's little jaunt to the whorehouse saved your life."

"No," she said with a grimace. "He wouldn't have killed me. Not last night. He might not even have knocked. Just left the picture with some creepy ass message and moved on."

"What makes you think that?" Juice said. "If he had you right there, why would he let you go?"

"I killed his son," she said. "Killing me is sort of…secondary. Not his top priority. He wants me to suffer. He'll destroy my whole life, and _then_ he'll come for me. And if he kills me right away I'll be lucky."

There was no fear in her voice, none on her face. She was simply stating a series of facts, the way one might read from an encyclopedia.

Chibs cleared his throat and brushed his hands against his thighs. "Tell me, lass. Why Tara? I know you're close, but surely he coulda gone after Juicy last night. Lad was out of his head and wouldn't have put up much of a fight."

Juice snorted, but the coffee beeped before he could say anything. She stayed quiet until he came back with the mugs, one containing earl grey for her, and handed them out. He propped against the mantel. She glanced at him and lifted a brow. He hitched a shoulder.

She took a deep breath and turned back to Chibs. "I don't know how long he's been watching me. Long enough, at least, to know about TM, but that doesn't mean much. Wouldn't be hard to find that out, really."

"Aye…?" Chibs said.

She took a sip of tea. "I was with Tara last night. Before I went to Diosa, I gave her a ride home from the cabin."

He stared at her. She waved a hand.

"She called me and said she needed a ride home because Gemma had brought her up there and she didn't have her car. I had no idea what she was planning to do. I just thought she needed a ride."

"Hhmm," he said, a low, doubtful noise. "Ollie, lass, it seems to me you're often in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught up in events all innocent-like."

She fixed him with a long look. Her eyes were hard as glass, and just as sharp. "Believe what you want. I'm telling you how it was."

"It doesn't matter now either way," Juice said. "If Doyle—Flanary, whatever—or one of his guys saw them together last night, it could be why he came after her today. What we've gotta focus on is finding Flanary before he can get to anybody else. We can't let something like this happen again."

"I know it's at least partially my fault," she said. "I'm ready to accept that blame, because believe me—there's nothing the club could do to me that could hurt as much as living with the guilt. Eli is dead because of me. His child will grow up without a father because I didn't speak up. Tara could've been killed, and it's only by some sort of bizarre stroke of luck that she wasn't."

She carefully avoided looking at Juice. He had saved Tara's life when he tackled Gemma and the shot deflected. A straight-on hit and she'd be dead now.

Chibs sighed. "You're square with the club, lass. You should have told us, but you had no idea what would happen. You keep secrets the way a miser hoards money: it's the very nature of you."

He tapped a finger against his coffee mug. "Bobby's called full table. Jackie boy is, unfortunately, in jail, so he won't be able to make it."

"They don't think he—?" Juice broke off, astounded. It was a consequence that hadn't occurred to him.

"Nah, lad. Patterson is holding him to the deal. He's in on the KG-9."

"Where are the boys?" Olivia said.

"Gemma's. The nanny's with them. Gemma's at the hospital."

Another quick glance between Juice and Olivia. "Alone?" Olivia said.

"Wayne's with her."

"Good," she said and relaxed a little. "That's good. I should head that way too." She set her mug on the table and rose.

Chibs stood with her. "Lass, a mo'," he said and jerked his chin at Juice. He got the hint and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Somethin' on your mind, Chibby?" she said, softly.

"It would've saved me a lot of time if I'd just called Juicy about this," he said.

"That occurred to me."

He studied her through narrowed eyes. "I feel like there's more to this than you're tellin'."

"Do you?" She crossed her arms and let her chin drop. When she looked up again she wore a cold smile, keen and brittle. "It's a pretty good bet you're right, but as you pointed out—keeping secrets is in my nature. You know what you need to know. You know what's important."

"How 'bout you let me be the judge of that?"

"No," she said. Her head tilted and the dimple in her chin flashed. "I think _you_ and your _club_ have passed enough judgement on me to last a lifetime."

He flinched a little and held out a hand. "I came out here tonight to tell you face to face that I voted _nay_. You chose to cover for me when you didn't have to; that matters, and it created a debt between us. My vote clears it."

She nodded and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "You told me once that not everyone measures things in gains or losses, or views the people around them as commodities. That's stuck with me, you know? It seemed important."

Her face twisted. "Now you're gonna tell me you voted to save my life out of a sense of obligation? And now that obligation is met. So, what. I'm on my own? My next fuck up is on me?"

"That isn't entirely what I meant, lass."

She let out a short breath of amusement. "Then explain it to me, Chibs, because I'm confused. Is this what family is? Answer that. Because to me part of loving someone is giving them a little bit of leeway. People do stupid shit, Chibs. It's fucking _life_. If you can't forgive the people you love, then what's the goddamn _point_?"

"What's the point without _honor_?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Oh fuck your honor! Yes, it's important. Loyalty is important. But _why_ are we loyal? What inspires it? What makes an oath mean anything more than hollow words?"

She threw out her arms. "It's love, Chibs. At the end of the day it's the only thing that separates us from savagery. _Love_." She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "If you want to stand here and tell me your vote was motived by some sort of lopsided debt, fine. I'll accept it. But don't think for one second that I'm so duty-bound."

"I never would, Olivia," he said, mildly.

"Good. Then you know that no matter how even you think we are, if it came down to it I'd save your life without hesitating. Because I love you. Because you're family to me. How you voted is irrelevant."

"Tell me, lass," he said after a long, loaded silence, "do you hate as fiercely as you love?"

"Oh, Chibby. Don't you ever doubt it. Two sides of the same coin as far as I'm concerned."

"Aye," he said with a slow nod. He paused. "You're a dangerous woman, Olivia. I'm not sure I mean that entirely as a compliment."

"Only dangerous under the right stimuli. Otherwise I'm meek as a kitten."

He laughed, sharp and loud. "As you say, lass."

Suddenly she seemed to crumble a bit, like ice melting. Her expression clouded. "I have this…memory. I don't know if it's true or not, because things were pretty fuzzy at the time. But…do you remember back when I was in the hospital? After…?" She gestured toward the side of her head, where they'd drilled into it.

He gave a short, puzzled nod. "Hard to forget."

She bit her lip a little. "I thought Juice said—that is, I kind of remember—he said y'all had been taking shifts. Like, outside my room. But he said"—her mouth quirked—"he said they couldn't get rid of you. You wouldn't leave."

He hesitated. "Aye," he said. "That's true. Gemma got Juicy away sooner."

When she looked up at him her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "That's the Chibs I know. That's the Chibs who inspires _my_ loyalty. But a man who regards a vote to save my life as obligation on a debt? That man's a stranger to me."

He scraped a hand down his face. "We're a great deal alike, you and me. After I gave Juicy that beat down do you recall what you said to me?"

"I love you, but if you touch him again—"

"You'd kill me, aye." He took her gently by the shoulders, but his eyes were hard. "You have your line, lass, just as I've got mine. I love you, Ollie girl; I've told you that before. It hasn't changed."

"Do you still trust me?" she said, her voice thick and strained. That seemed to matter more than anything. He could read it in every line of her face.

"That is a complicated question."

She pulled out of his grip and turned away. Her gaze landed on the Turner print above the mantel. She stared at the ship, rendered small to the point of insignificance as it tried to ride the storm-tossed sea, and she wondered, not for the first time, if it would survive the storm, or sink like so much flotsam.

"You know," she said, seemingly apropos of nothing, "I met TJ Flanary when I was seventeen. I married him when I was eighteen. I was a kid. I mean, like all eighteen year olds I thought I wasn't. I thought I knew—everything. But I was young and naïve and so fucking _stupid_."

As she faced Chibs again she caught sight of Juice in the kitchen doorway. Their eyes met, briefly, and she managed a quick smile for him.

"I'm thirty-one now," she said to Chibs, "and I'm just as naïve as the girl who promised TJ Flanary _for richer or poorer_. I thought I could have a life. Friends. A family." She gestured at Chibs. "Love." A wave toward Juice. "I was living in this perfect little bubble. Okay, maybe _perfect_ is hyperbole; there was the occasional explosion and brain injury; but compared to my old life? It was pretty fucking great."

She picked up the first postcard and ran a finger around the curve of the peach in the corner. "When Chucky handed me that envelope the bubble burst. My old life was suddenly right there, in living technicolor, and I realized I hadn't escaped a fucking thing. I was still running. I was still afraid. I was still paying for a mistake I made when I was eighteen years old."

"Lass, it was hardly—"

She lifted a hand to cut him off. "Don't say it wasn't my fault. _That_ is a complicated question."

She pressed the card against his chest and jabbed two fingers against it. He caught it before it could flutter to the ground. "I'm not running anymore, Chibs. I'm not _afraid_ anymore. You say that makes me dangerous; you're probably right. I say _good_. Because I am fucking well _sick_ of _men_ who think they _own_ me."

Her gaze darted to Juice and back to Chibs. "Thank you for voting the way you did. But please don't think your table or your votes will hold me prisoner ever again. I hope you got what you needed"—she flicked her hair at him—"because if we're talking debts? Then I consider mine to SAMCRO paid in full."

She spun away, but Chibs' voice stopped her halfway to the hall. "We'll help you find your Teddy Flanary," he said, for lack of anything else.

"I know you will," she told him with a sharp smile that she tossed over her shoulder. "He's a danger to all of us now. You don't have any other choice." Then she was gone, and a moment later they heard the bedroom door slam.

Juice wandered into the living room, and he and Chibs shared a long look. "Watch her, lad," Chibs said. "Vengeance can take even the mildest soul to a dark place—and our Ollie has never been _mild_."

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt her, Chibs. What I did tonight was it. After we find Flanary and deal with him, I'm out. Out of Charming, out of SAMCRO—out."

"Aye, lad," he said, wearily. "Can't say anyone will be surprised to hear it."

He kept the rest of his thoughts to himself: it seemed to him that Olivia was far more a danger to herself than anyone else. She was a storm of fury and pain carefully contained by a brittle shell that could shatter at the slightest nudge. He could only hope she would be pointed in the right direction when it happened.

He sighed. "Make sure she gets to the hospital okay and then come to the shop. We'll wait for you." He gathered up the postcards and shoved them under his hoodie. "Ride safe, brother."

"Yeah, Chibs," Juice said. "You too. Watch your back."

* * *

Juice pushed open the bedroom door and propped himself against the jamb. She sat at the vanity with a pair of scissors and tried to even out her hair. He watched until she grew frustrated and threw them away with a disgusted snort.

He stepped up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. She tilted her head to press her cheek against one of them.

"I told Chibs I'm leaving as soon as we find Flanary," he said.

She said nothing, just nodded.

He leaned down to kiss her temple. "Tara's not dead, babe."

"I know. Might be hard work to keep her that way."

"You think Gemma'll try again?"

"She doesn't have much choice, does she? If Tara comes out of surgery okay and remembers what happened, she'll tell Jax or the cops or _some_body. Anything to keep Gemma away from the boys. Gemma's not stupid; she knows how much trouble she's in."

"So what do we do?"

She lifted her head and tangled her fingers with his. Tugged his hand over her shoulder and kissed his knuckles. They were scraped, freshly. "What happened to your hand?" she said.

"Same thing that happened to yours," he said with a nod toward the hand she'd so abused in the shower. "Punched a wall a few times."

"Ah." She flexed her fingers. "Might need to wrap it. Wasn't completely recovered from being broken in three places a few months ago."

He traced the line of her jaw with his free hand. His eyes in the mirror were sad. "You really think we're gonna be okay, Liv?"

She spun around and pulled him down so that their faces were level. "One Flanary or another has ruined everything good I've ever had in my life. I'm not letting Teddy ruin this."

"Huh," he said. His brow creased. "That the only reason? Just sheer stubbornness?"

"Ohh fuck you, Ortiz," she said.

He sat back on his heels and pulled her off the chair and into his lap. He buried his hands in her hair and kissed her. He teased her with his tongue, flicking it against her lips and tongue until she yanked him closer by his shirt and captured his mouth with hers.

"You're everything to me, Liv. You know that, right? I'm nothing without you. You make me better than I ever thought I could be."

"Shut up, Juicy. Fuck that. Fuck all of that." She raised up on her knees so that she was above him. She still had a fistful of his t-shirt, and she used it to hold him still as she kissed him again and again, barely coming up for air between each hot, fervent melding of their lips.

He kneaded her ass with both hands and she rocked into him.

"We need to get to the hospital," she mumbled against his mouth.

"I know," he said. His skimmed his tongue down her throat "You started it."

She took his face in her hands and stared him in the eye. "I'm exactly where I want to be, Juice. Do you understand that? Everything else might be fucked all to hell and back, but this? You and me? It's the one really good thing I have left. I came _really_ close to throwing it away, and I'm not gonna risk losing you again."

"I'm not goin' anywhere, Olivia." He yanked her hips so that she dropped down onto him. Caressed her thighs and nipped at her lips as her arms went around his neck.

"I'll marry you if want," he said.

She froze. He'd said it so casually she wasn't sure she'd heard him right.

He lifted his head and met her suddenly wary look. He grinned a little half-smile. "I'm just sayin'. If you're into it."

She laughed, nervous and tense, and pressed a palm to her mouth. "That's the most ridiculous proposal I've ever heard. _Was_ that a proposal?"

"Sure," he said with a shrug. "Because, I mean. We're both in this for the long haul, right? So why not make it legal?"

"My last marriage wasn't exactly the fairy tale."

"Neither is this," he said. "We're two of the most fucked up people I've ever met. Apart we're a goddamn mess, but together, somehow, we work. We're better. Isn't that why you marry someone?"

Her eyes were huge, stunned, and he pressed a kiss to her mouth. "Just think about it, Liv. I love you. I don't want this with anyone else."

She swallowed hard. He slid her off his lap and stood. Reached down to help her up. She accepted his hand, and once she was on her feet she didn't let go.

"You're full of surprises, Juan Carlos," she said in a soft, wondering tone.

"Gotta keep you on your toes, don't I?"

Her arms slipped around his waist and she rested her cheek against his chest. "You gonna buy me a ring, Ortiz?"

"You want a ring?"

"No," she said with a shudder. "I absolutely don't want a ring."

He ran his fingers through her hair. "Yeah," he said. "I didn't really think so."

He could only imagine what sort of rock her ex had bought to impress seventeen-year-old Olivia, or what other bits and baubles he'd decorated her with over the course of their time together. She never wore jewelry, not even her mother's necklace that she kept in the box on her bureau. Gemma had given her a real pretty pair of earrings for her last birthday, and he'd been there when she'd opened them. Gemma had gotten one look at her face and taken the box back without a word. The next day Olivia had worn a set of tortoiseshell combs in her hair, and when Chucky commented on them she said they'd been a birthday gift from Gemma.

Jewelry was not the way to Olivia Gable's heart.

Neither was cutting her hair with a knife, but apparently she was ready to forgive him for that.

She pulled away with a little sniffle. "I should get dressed. You've gotta get to the shop and I don't want Gemma alone with Tara."

"I'll take you to the hospital," he called as she ducked into the closet.

"On your bike?" She poked her head out with an impatient scowl. "I'd really rather have my car."

"I know you would, but—look, Liv, please don't argue with me. Not tonight."

She opened her mouth as though to do just that, but then she closed it. "Okay," she said after a moment. She disappeared again and emerged with a blue dress with white polkadots. "I guess I won't wear this then."

It was probably his favorite thing she owned (that could be worn in public), and it made him grin. "Wear it anyway. Nothin' like a pretty girl in a short skirt on the back of a bike."

"In your wet dreams, Ortiz. I think I'll stick to jeans."

"Oh well," he said, regretfully. "Worth a try."

A moment later the dress hit him in the face. "You wear it!"

"Maybe later, babe," he said and draped it over the chair. "Doesn't really go with my boots."

The sound of her laughter—bright and free and honest—warmed the room and deepened his smile. That was a sound he could hear every day for the rest of his life and never complain.

* * *

She hopped off the bike and handed him the helmet. Twisted her hair up and tugged on a hat. "Well?" she said.

"Very cute. Like Ingrid Bergman in _Casablanca_."

She shook her head. "Never stop surprising me, Juicy. Reason number six."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him for a kiss. "So you still owe me four."

"I'll get to them. Patience, m'love." She kissed his nose. "Call me later, okay? Let me know how it goes."

"I will. Be careful, Olivia."

"You too, Juice."

She waved at him once she was inside. He lifted a hand in return, revved the engine, and rode off. As he left her line of sight she noticed a tall, dark-haired man leaning against an old blue Pontiac Bonneville. He lit a cigarette, and the flare illuminated his face and piercing eyes. He nodded in her direction and she nodded back.

_Well_, she thought and turned away. Apparently Teddy had grown bored with the subtlety of mere postcards.

Tara was out of surgery, and she'd been moved to neuro ICU on the third floor. When Olivia got off the elevator she immediately saw Gemma slumped in a chair next to Wayne. Red-the-prospect stood against the wall with his arms crossed.

Unser saw her first. He nudged Gemma, who quickly rose and crossed to her. She offered a hug, which Olivia returned stiffly. Gemma cupped her face and studied her with worried eyes.

"You okay, baby?" she said.

"You're asking me?" Olivia said with a wry twist to her mouth. "I think of all of us I'm probably doin' the best. How's Tara?"

Gemma didn't so much as bat an eye. "She's not too bad. The doctor said the next twenty-four hours are critical. If she wakes up, great. If she doesn't…"

She trailed off and Olivia nodded. There was no need to finish the sentence. Her brows drew together. "Can we talk somewhere? I need your help with something."

"Sure, sweetheart. Let's go to Tara's office."

Olivia gritted her teeth. Gemma's ease was almost more than she could take. She swallowed her fury and mustered a smile. "Great. I'll meet you down there." She nodded down the hall. "Gotta pee," she said.

Olivia waited until Gemma was in the elevator before she sat down next to Wayne. He patted her hand. "Glad you're here," he said. "Gemma needs someone else to talk to."

"What are the cops saying?"

"Not much, to me. Eli and I had a certain mutual respect, but the rest of the department—" He broke off with a shrug. "They'll probably appoint someone from outside Sanwa County as interim Sheriff until they can get a permanent replacement. Also, I'd imagine, from outside the county."

"They won't want to risk anyone with a connection to SAMCRO."

"Bingo," he said.

She shifted in her seat. "Listen. I'm going to say something to you right now, and I don't want you to ask how I know. Okay?"

He frowned, but after a moment he nodded. "I guess you've earned a little trust. What's up?"

"I think, when they look, that they'll find the weapon used to shoot Tara _wasn't_ the same one used on Eli. You've probably learned enough to get that this was a professional hit. So why isn't Tara dead? Pros don't miss."

His eyes narrowed. "You think you know who ordered the hit?"

"I absolutely know who ordered the hit. But I don't think his guys shot Tara. That was someone else altogether. I think it was kinda personal, maybe."

"Ollie, who—?"

She shrugged and pushed to her feet. "Don't know, Wayne. Pretty short list of suspects."

"Olivia." He grabbed her hand. "You can't go to the club with this. They'll kill her."

Her eyes were steady on his. "I haven't decided what I'm going to do." Her voice dropped and she leaned closer. "I do know she's not getting anywhere near those boys, or their mother. You love her, don't you?"

His silence answered the question better than any words could.

"Keep her away from Tara, Wayne. Don't let her do something stupid."

"Seems like it's a little too late for that."

Her mouth quirked in bitter appreciation. "I know you'll do what you can. You'd do anything for her. That's what love's all about, isn't it?"

* * *

_Olivia hasn't decided what she's going to do because I haven't decided what she's going to do. It is a delicate and complex question. I do know that new, Terminator Olivia scares me a little. She's très unpredictable._

_So there are three songs that, to me, perfectly capture the spirit of this fic: "C'mon Baby" by Bob Schneider, "The Question" by Jeremy Aggers, and "I Just Knew" by Better Than Ezra. Honorable mention to "Changing My Mind," also by Bob, for the sad bits. I think I will make a playlist on 8tracks, but when I initially had that idea I had no idea how many songs I'd be using. So I might have to make, like, part I and part II or something. Um, I'm rambling._

_Love the reviews, darling readers. Help me out and keep 'em comin'. :D_


	47. A Little While

Hello, lovely readers! Aaaand we're back!

Please check out the end for some additional notes. :)

* * *

**i just wanna make you laugh**  
**i just wanna see that smile**  
**babe, we're only here, oh, for a little while**  
**i just wanna hold you till we fall asleep**  
**i want love i want us**  
**i want you i want me i want peace**  
O.A.R., "Peace"

Gemma was waiting for her in Tara's office with a hand on her hip. "Longest pee in history," she said.

Olivia shrugged a shoulder. "I had a lot of water earlier."

She eyed Olivia up and down with a shrewd set to her mouth. "Nice hat," she said at last.

"That's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about." She took it off and shook out her hair. It tumbled to her shoulders and Gemma's mouth fell open.

"Holy shit. What'd you do? Hack it off with a fuckin' knife?"

"Ha. Funny you should say that." She flicked her fingers. "It's a long story and I'd rather not get into it right now." She reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of shears. "Think you could help me get it cleaned up? So at least I can show my head in public before I make it to a professional."

Gemma let out a long breath and took the scissors from her. "Yeah," she said. "I'll give you the number for my girl, too." She gestured for Olivia to have a seat. "Be right back."

Olivia waited, her nerves taut and stretched, until Gemma appeared again. She had a hospital gown in her hand. "Makeshift drape," she said and wrapped it over Olivia's shoulders. She frowned at her head. Walked in a circle around her. "You wouldn't happen to have—?"

Olivia held up a comb.

"Perfect." A silence fell, and for a long time the only sounds were the snip of shears and the whisper of hair against cloth. "So," Gemma said at last, "you gonna tell me what's on your mind, or just make me stand here and guess?"

She decided it might break the ice if she confessed something of her own. "Juice cut my hair," she said. "With a knife."

"Why the hell would he do somethin' like that?"

"Club voted for it," she said, shortly. "I told Nero Juice killed that girl, Darvany, and Nero went to Jax with it."

She paused. "You _ratted_ to _Nero_?"

She let out a sigh and explained to Gemma what had happened the night before—leaving out the fact that she'd been with Tara when Gemma called. "He'd already spilled most of it. I tried to cover for Jax best I could, but Nero wasn't having any of it."

Gemma made a low noise. Olivia wished there were a mirror so she could see the other woman's face. "I've had a real shit day, baby girl. At least now I know who's partially to blame for it."

Olivia's lips quirked. "I guess you blame Tara for the rest." She cut her eyes up and was gratified to see the flush that spread over Gemma's cheeks.

She resumed cutting after a brief hitch. "Not Tara's fault some maniac broke in and attacked her. You hear what happened to Eli?"

"Uh huh. Goddamn shame. If only you'd gotten there five minutes sooner."

Gemma drew in a deep breath. Her hands fell to land on Olivia's shoulders. She could see the sharp scissors from the corner of her eye, but she stayed steady.

"Way I see it," Gemma said slowly, "we both got a problem. You could tell Jax and the club what I did, but then you'd have to explain how you know. That'd leave your sweet baby boy's ass danglin' in the wind."

She made a face. "Okay, first of all—ew. Don't try to project your Oedipal issues onto _me_. Secondly, what are you doing with those scissors, Gem? Gonna stab me in the face? Because, really. Wayne and Red both know exactly where I am and exactly who I'm with. It'd be hard for him to clean up after you this time, what with the regime change downtown."

"I'm not gonna stab you, Ollie." She let out a hard sigh and pulled the other chair up to sit across from her. "I didn't meant to hurt Tara," she said. "I was outta my mind. I thought she'd ratted."

"She told you she didn't. _Juice_ told you she didn't. You fucking shot her anyway. You would've killed her if Juice hadn't been there."

She sat back and threw one leg over the other. "Wayne said Jax was going to jail, but he didn't know why. It made sense, after everything, that Tara had ratted him out."

"Gem, come on. If Tara had ratted the whole fucking club would be going to jail. _You'd_ be going to jail. Hell, _I'd_ probably be going to jail."

She held up her hands. "I wasn't really in a logical state of mind."

"Hhmm."

"And I was right anyway: it's all that fucking bitch's fault that Jax is in prison right now. He made a deal for _her_. So she could take my babies away! He didn't have the right."

"Okay, well, they're not _your_ babies—they're Tara and Jax's. And if you're mad at your son, maybe you should take that shit out on _him_."

"He never would've done it without her."

"Oh, bullshit, Gemma. Fucking bullshit. Quit lying to yourself. Jax has been trying to distance himself from the club for _years_. Tara's told me all about it. He never wanted those boys raised in this life. And, look, you may've conned Wendy into thinking you can get her back in Jax's good graces—as your fucking puppet—but nobody else is stupid enough to think that's gonna happen."

A brief tightening around her eyes and mouth was the only sign of how close to home Olivia had just hit. She turned her head away and said nothing.

Olivia leaned forward a little. "What do you think Jax would do to you if he knew you were the one?"

Gemma shot her a vicious glare. "Probably the same thing he'd do to Juice, sweetheart," she said, her voice laced with poison.

She spread her hands in a shrug. "Point." She smiled a little. "I don't want your blood on my hands, Gemma. That's what I told Juice when he offered to turn you in if I asked him to."

Her smile deepened at the look of shock Gemma tried and failed to hide. "Yeah. Another one of your birds leavin' the nest." She paused. "Overall, though, the guys in that club love you. Worship you. I'm not trying to compete with that. I'd lose."

"Goddamn right you would. And if you think I couldn't snap Juice out of his little _infatuation_—"

"Gemma. Please. Don't embarrass yourself. I know this is a hard concept for you, but sometimes there really _are_ battles you should walk away from."

She sat up and narrowed her eyes. "Listen to me, you smart mouth little bitch—"

"Maybe we could leave the misogyny to the menfolk. I'm prepared to offer you a compromise, Gemma. You'd be smart to listen."

She flicked her fingers as though it were of little consequence to her either way, but Olivia could tell she was paying attention. "You keep the boys until Tara is well enough, or until Wendy's out of rehab—whichever comes first. At such time, you will turn them over to either Tara or Wendy and you will disappear. I don't mean from Charming. I just mean from their lives. They won't see you. They won't speak to you. They will forget your name."

Gemma stared at her. "How is that—"

"I'm not done!" Olivia snapped. "If Tara dies, I go to Jax. Once Tara recovers—which, of course, is what we're _all_ hoping happens—if she so much as gets a fucking paper cut, I go to Jax."

"And what about Juice, Olivia? You gonna let him hang?"

"Juice is my concern, not yours. You try to rat out Juice to save your own ass and it won't be Jax who comes after you. It'll be me."

Olivia's smile turned sweet, but the look in her green eyes sent a chill straight through her. "Your son is as meek as a lamb compared to me. We women have a way of defending our own that men just can't understand."

Gemma lifted her chin and fixed her with a scornful sneer. "You think I'm scared of you, little girl? I've chewed up and spit out more upstart, mouthy cunts like you than I can even remember. You got perky tits, a nice ass, and a big mouth. Ain't nothin' I haven't seen a hundred times before. You're a dime a dozen, baby."

Olivia ducked her head a moment, and when she raised it again she still hadn't lost that sugar-coated little smirk. She stood up. Stripped off the makeshift drape and tossed it aside. She bent down to rest her hands on the armrests of Gemma's chair.

"Gemma," she said in the same mild tone she'd used before, "I think you're not really hearing me. I'm going to clarify for you, because I really _don't_ want your blood on my hands. I meant that.

Her gaze darted downwards. "Enough with the scissors," she said, drolly. She took them from her and tucked them in her back pocket.

"Now. Here's how things are: you are a badass biker bitch. I mean that as a genuine compliment. I respect your willingness to fight for what you love. I appreciate your ferocity. I don't take any of those things lightly.

"What's important for you to understand—what I _need_ you to understand—is that while I do have perky tits and a nice ass and a big mouth, I am like _nothing_ you've seen before. You try to chew me up and spit me out I guarantee you'll fucking choke."

Gemma slammed her hands down over Olivia's and closed the distance between them so that their noses were inches apart. "I ain't scared of you, sweetheart."

"No," she said with a regretful tilt of her head. "I didn't think you would be." She freed herself from Gemma's grip and straightened. "It's a good offer, Gem. The best you're gonna get. I walk out of here, I go straight to County for a visit with Jax."

"They wouldn't let you in," she said, her voice tense with fury.

"You willing to bet your life on that?"

Her eyes shifted away.

"I didn't think so," Olivia said.

"If you loved Juice as much as you think you do you wouldn't risk his life like it was nothin'."

"I told you to let me worry about Juice. He's mine, Gemma, and I take care of my own." Her mouth quirked. "It's something you and I have in common."

"You know those guys who killed Eli?" she said after a moment.

"Not personally, but, yeah. I know who they were working for."

"You don't think the club might care about that little fact?"

"Now you're just making yourself look desperate. Chibs and Juice are telling them right now." She crossed her arms with an air of bored nonchalance. "Anything else?"

"I think you're bluffing."

"Call me on it, then."

She looked like nothing would delight her more, but Olivia knew she wouldn't. It was too big a risk. Finally, with a bitter twist to her lips like she'd just swallowed something nasty, she gave in.

"What happens if Tara wakes up and starts shootin' her mouth off?"

"I'll talk to Tara. Explain our deal. _Hopefully_ it'll be enough. But, look: gamble on that, or take the sure bet that Jax'll blow your fucking head off after I have a word with him."

"I have no control over whether she lives or not," she said, sullenly. "She could be dead right now for all we know!"

"Then I suggest you pray, Gemma. Wear out your fucking knees and cash in any favors you might have with the Almighty, because your life is now completely dependent on hers."

Gemma pushed herself out of the chair and propped a fist on her hip. Her gaze was steady and assessing. "I always knew you were an ice queen, but I had no idea you were such a stone cold bitch," she said with a hint of grudging respect.

"I learned from the best," she said and inclined her head toward Gemma.

She acknowledged that with a brief snort. "I guess we got a deal."

"I guess we do." Olivia grabbed her bag and tossed it over her shoulder. "Thanks for the haircut. You can text me your girl's name."

"I'd watch your back, sweetheart," Gemma said as Olivia opened the door. "Seems like you've pissed off all the wrong people."

"Don't worry, Gem. My back's covered. Is yours?"

She didn't wait for an answer. Her gait was casual and unhurried as she shut the door and walked away, but the second she was around the corner she took off. She slammed into a nearby bathroom and collapsed against a sink.

The metal was cold beneath her fingers as she hung on. She dragged in a series of long, shuddering breaths until she felt her heartbeat start to slow.

"Fuck," she whispered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

She didn't have a hand left to play. She'd laid everything out for Gemma back there, and she was lucky as hell she'd bought it. What would she do if Gemma went against their agreement? Olivia didn't know how to protect Juice, and he was the only person she could trust. He was her only ally. Her only true friend. And he was just as fucked as she was.

She met her own eyes in the mirror. They were over-bright, her cheeks flushed, her hair mussed. She ran her fingers through it and smoothed her shirt. The icy calm that had sustained her all night flowed back like a sweet balm.

She wasn't completely without resources. She still had the dirt on Teddy. If push came to shove she'd take it to the cops and get WITSEC for both her and Juice. Get them the hell out before Jax' wrath could descend from on high.

In the meantime she had to, as Gemma had advised, watch her back. Olivia wasn't stupid; she knew a threat when she heard one. If Gemma went to someone in the club—Tig, maybe, or Bobby—with some sort of _I'm so worried about Juice and I think maybe he…_ type story it might all be over before Olivia could do a goddamn thing.

"One problem at a time," she murmured to her reflection. For now she thought Gemma was in check. Wayne would keep an eye on her, and she seemed to believe that Olivia really would go to Jax given the proper motivation.

But she knew better than to ever underestimate Gemma Teller. She was a survivor, a fighter, and if Olivia took her eye off her it would likely be the last mistake she would ever make.

* * *

An hour or so later (she'd lost track of time at some point), Olivia's phone rang. Her brow quirked when she saw the number.

"I hope you're calling to tell me you're on the way to pick me up," she said when she answered it. "This is why I wanted my car."

"Nag, nag, nag," he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. "How's it going there?"

"Oh, fine," she said "All quiet." She locked eyes with Gemma. Gemma looked away first. "How're things in the land of Scoops 'n' Sweets?"

"Could be sweeter." He paused. "They want me to come get you. Bring you here."

She sat up a little straighter. "Why?"

"They want everything you've got on Doyle. To help us find him."

She let out a soft curse. Wayne cast her a questioning look. She smiled at him and moved down the hall a bit, out of earshot. "Juice, I can't give them that stuff. It's the only leverage we have left."

"We?" he said after a moment. He sounded both uncertain and kind of delighted.

"Yeah, doofus, _we_. You and me, Ortiz. Look, I think I've got Gemma off Tara for now, but I've got no way to keep you safe if she decides to cut her losses and give you up to Jax. Or if she comes up with some sob story—" She broke off. It was too dangerous to talk here, especially over a cellphone.

"And I've got no way to keep _you_ safe if Mick fuckin' Doyle decides he's done playin' bullshit games and comes after you. Liv, we gotta have somethin'. Pictures. Something."

She sighed and scraped a hand through her hair. "Yeah, okay. But it's not like I carry it around with me. It's all at home." And in a secret stash in her car, but she wasn't going to say that aloud.

"We can go there and come back."

"Tonight? Babe, it's late. Can I promise them first thing tomorrow?"

"I can try."

She hesitated. Then, "Tell them to be on the lookout for a guy drivin' a bright blue Bonneville. A sixty-three, I think."

"That's kind of…distinctive."

"He wasn't trying to blend," she said.

"You got a name?"

"Nope. Never seen him before. But somehow I got the feeling—Juicy, those guys who came after Tara today had to be local. No way one of Doyle's crew would run off like that. This guy? He seemed like a pro, through and through. A real hard case."

"Okay," he said. "I'll call you when I'm on my way. Sit tight."

"Not goin' anywhere."

"Good," he said, and she felt the warmth in his voice like he stood next to her and murmured it in her ear.

"Love you, Ortiz."

"I know," he said, smugly.

She laughed and hung up on him.

* * *

"Are you asleep?" she said softly, even though she could tell from his breathing he wasn't.

"Not really," he said. "What's up?"

They were lying back to back. It was mid-June, but as usual in this part of California, the night was cool. She'd cracked the window just a bit, and they could hear the lonely, mournful call of an owl from somewhere out in the dark. She reached behind her to rest a hand on his hip, and he caught her fingers in his. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

The club had decided they could wait for her info on Doyle, and he'd come to pick her up at the hospital about an hour after they'd talked on the phone. Once they got home she'd filled him in on her conversation with Gemma, minus a few choice bits she'd kept to herself, and now it nagged at her. She didn't want to keep anything from him, even something that seemed so minor.

"I hope I didn't fuck up today," she said at last.

"Fuck up how? You didn't do anything wrong."

"The thing with Gemma—"

He sighed a little. "It sounds to me like you did the best you could. You were smart to tell Wayne. He'll try to look out for her."

"She's the one who pulls the strings in _that_ relationship."

"True," he said, thoughtfully, "but she listens to his advice." He hesitated. "Did she say—I mean, did she say _why_—?"

She rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand. "I don't think she—I don't know, maybe I'm being naïve, but I don't think she planned it at all. She was out of her mind, desperate and afraid. It doesn't excuse anything, but I—I can't find it in me to hate her, as much as I think I should. As much as I really _want_ to."

"That's why you're a good person, Liv, no matter what you say."

She gave a restless shrug. "In this case it makes me weak. Gemma Teller can smell weakness like a shark smells blood."

He shifted. "That's—pretty serious."

"We can't bury our heads in the sand anymore, babe. This place is dangerous, and trying to deny it is gonna get one or both of us killed."

"Gemma wouldn't—"

"She would, Juice. After what she did to Tara, out of her mind or not, I wouldn't put anything past her. Desperation is a nasty thing." She paused. "That wasn't—quite what I meant though. About fucking up."

He was quiet, but she could tell he was listening.

"I told her some things about you. About us, I mean. Not—not anything secret. Just—I told her you're mine. She called your feelings for me an _infatuation_." She imitated Gemma's scornful tone perfectly and felt him tense.

"I told her she was embarrassing herself," she said quickly. "And I said you offered to turn her in if I wanted you to."

"Ah," he said. "Wow."

She winced. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have spoken for you, but—"

"Stop, Liv. She was out line to say that, and I _am_ yours. I just get tired of all the power games."

She snorted. "I know. I do too. I didn't mean to make out like you're some sort of pawn, or a bargaining chip. I didn't mean it like that."

"I know you didn't," he said, his voice quiet. He squeezed her fingers. "You know she was wrong. It's not an infatuation."

Her laugh was soft, an easy ripple. "Of course it's not. There are plenty of things I'm insecure about, but that isn't one of them."

"I—" He broke off. Cleared his throat. When had that happened? Her utter and complete faith in him? She sounded so sure, so…normal. Like they were discussing the weather.

She turned over and spooned against him. Pressed her mouth to his shoulder. "Since coming to Charming I've had a serious head injury and a broken wrist. I've been shot and nearly blown up. I've lost more friends than I have fingers to count them with. My hair was hacked off with a knife. I've had an abortion, which is truly something I _never_ thought I'd have to go through. But, Juice—I'll never regret coming here. No matter what happens."

"Because;" he swallowed hard; "because of me?"

"Yeah, silly. Because of you." She rested her forehead against the spot she'd just kissed. She felt the world spin around her, like she'd had too much to drink and now felt sick from it. Except she was stone cold sober. The thought reminded her of what Gemma had said: _I had no idea you were a stone cold bitch._

Olivia hadn't really known that about herself, either.

She wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"Tell me everything's gonna be okay, Juicy," she whispered.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Liv," he said without hesitating.

"Now tell me what you really think."

There was a long, thoughtful silence. Finally: "We're gonna be okay, Liv."

_We_, he'd said. Not _everything_. She let out a long breath. But suddenly her stomach gave a loud grumble and the moment was broken. She burst out laughing.

"Was that your tummy?" he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice.

"I'm hungry! You didn't feed me before you put me to bed," she said.

"Ha! It was after midnight, babe. I didn't want you turnin' into a gremlin."

"Hhhmm," she said. Something about her voice made him shiver. She ran her tongue around the curve of his ear and nibbled a little. "Does that mean you won't get me wet, either?"

He flipped over to face her. "Get you wet?" He squeezed her ass. "Baby, I'll get you wet all night long."

"That doesn't even make sense, Ortiz."

"Sure it does," he said and nuzzled her neck. "Want me to show you?"

"Nooo," she said and pushed him away. "I need something to eat!"

He waggled his brows at her. "I've got something—"

She lifted a finger. "Do not."

He laughed and pulled her to him again. "I think there's still some of that spaghetti left over," he said as dropped kisses along the curve of her shoulder.

"I like spaghetti," she said.

"There's ice cream in the freezer," he murmured against her skin.

"Ooo."

He ran his tongue over her collarbone. "Cookies in the cabinet."

"Now you're just trying to get me wet."

He looked up with a wounded, innocent expression. "No, baby! You said you're hungry. I'm just telling you your options."

She brushed her thumb against his mouth. He captured it with his teeth and she giggled. "I do love you, Juan Carlos."

His grin morphed into a puzzled frown. "You need a nickname."

"Juice—! _Ollie_? _Liv_?"

"Oh, well, but—I mean, yeah, I guess, but—" He ducked his head. "Never mind."

"Low blood sugar, or a side effect of all the blood to your brain rushing further south?"

"Both, I think."

"Mmm." She pushed him onto his back and moved over him. "I can help you with at least one of those." She dragged her tongue down the center of his chest.

"I thought you were hungry," he said, his voice a little breathless.

"It can wait." She stretched out on top of him and rested her chin on her crossed arms. "If we make it out of Charming—"

"_When_ we make it out of Charming," he corrected with a frown.

"Right. _When_ we make it out of Charming, where should we go?"

"Um. Well, I'm on parole, so I guess we'd have to stay in California."

"Okay." She used a fingertip to trace the light skull's eye socket. "North or south?"

"San Diego's pretty nice."

"Um hum," she said. She flicked her tongue against his nipple. Her mouth curved at the sound he made and she did it again. "La Jolla is great. I'm sure we could scrape up a couple mil and get a real nice place."

"Maybe not south."

"The coast up north is lovely."

He stroked both hands down her back. "How much do those places go for?"

"I don't know. Probably more than we have."

"That—well. That might not be exactly true."

She went still. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been investing."

"Investing? In this market? With what money?"

He rolled his eyes. "Club money, Olivia. And, yeah, the market's shit, but you just gotta now how to play it."

She blinked at him. "I thought the club was broke."

"The _club_ is, but _I_—that is _we_, the guys—aren't. We still got our share. The club's just run through all of _its_ share."

"Of the cartel money."

"It was big money."

"Is it _clean_ money?"

He waved a hand. "Mostly. We launder what we can through the garage, the rest here and there. That's Bobby's area, not mine."

"So what is your area?" she said, her brows drawn together.

"Once it's clean Bobby sends it down to these accounts in the Caymans. Then I invest it. For all the guys."

"You're a biker _and_ a stock broker?" She suddenly imagined him in a well-tailored three piece suit and her mouth went dry.

"Don't sound so surprised," he said, a bit sulkily. "It's all just patterns. Game theory, like. I mean—" His shoulders rippled in a shrug. "It's easy. You look at what things've done and you see what other things like it are doing, and you just—pick something."

"Pick something," she repeated. "That easy."

"Well, not easy, exactly. Just kinda…simple. It makes sense to me. It's like when I'm workin' on a computer, you know? It speaks a language I get. When I'm tryin' to hack a password or get through a firewall, I see everything spread out like a map. The stock stuff's the same."

She shook her head in a stunned sort of way. "You're really brilliant, Juicy. I mean, I knew that, but you've gotta stop hiding it. There's no reason to."

His face twisted. "It's not the kinda thing the guys understand. It's too…vague, I guess. Abstract."

She lifted a brow. "Money is the least abstract thing in the world, m'love."

"That's true, if it's bricks of cash. But this is numbers on a screen."

She conceded that point with a tilt of her head. Then, "What kind of numbers are we talking?"

"Ahh…well, I'm a little more reckless with my shit than I am with the guys', so some of them have more than me."

"Yeah, I'm not planning to run away with any of them."

His brow quirked in acknowledgement. "I only got about ten thousand or so cash, in the bank. My portfolio's about a million, give or take."

Her eyes went wide. She sat up fast and smacked him on the shoulder. "A million _dollars_? You are _fucking_ with me."

"Ow, hey, no, I'm not. I don't know how much exactly because I haven't really had time to mess with it in a few days."

"Juice—you realize between that and the money we can make selling our houses we can actually make a _life_. We can get a place. Maybe we could buy our own shop!"

He brushed her hair back and smiled at her. "Is that what you'd want to do? Open a shop?"

A blush spread over her cheeks and she looked away. "It's sort of—it's been a dream of mine since I was a kid. I guess it's kinda stupid, considering I was planning to go to college for engineering." She met his eyes again and the dimple appeared in her chin. "Some of my best memories are helping my grandfather out in his shop. He always seemed really happy there."

"It's not stupid," he said. "I think it'd be great."

A slow grin unfurled across her face. "You do?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Absolutely." He paused. "I kinda worry we might have trouble selling, though. People aren't exactly flocking to Charming these days. The work you did on this place will make you a fuckton of money, though."

She pressed a hand to her mouth to smother a burst of giggles.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing. I just realized this is probably the most adult conversation I've ever had in my life. Stock portfolios and real estate," she said with a stern expression belied by the sparkle in her eyes.

He rested a hand on her leg and moved his thumb in a circle against the soft skin of her inner thigh. "And to think I could be getting you wet right now."

"Oh you are, baby," she said as she leaned closer to kiss him. "Oooo, stock portfolios. Ohhh! Real estate!" she said in an exaggerated, breathy voice—that was actually just close enough to the real thing to get his attention. "Keep talkin' dirty to me, sugar."

He barked out a laugh and shoved her over to fall beside him. "Shut up, Gable. You're so full of shit."

"Ooo, now my last name! Take me, Ortiz, I'm yours!"

He jumped out of bed, spun around, and grabbed her by the waist. She let out a little shriek as he threw her over his shoulder. He started down the hall and she lifted her head.

"Uh, where are you actually taking me?"

"The kitchen. You need food."

"Okay. Food first, and then the oral sex."

He smacked her ass and she yelped. "Behave yourself, Juan Carlos, or no oral sex for you."

He stopped and slowly lowered her to the floor, letting her body slide against his all the way down. "You can't tease me like that, Liv. It's just mean."

She draped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and brushed her tongue across it. "Don't pout, baby. Let's go eat some cookies."

"Cookies?" he said and lifted a brow. "How about;" he kissed her neck; "you eat cookies;" slid his hands up to stroke her breasts; "while I;" pinched her nipples through the thin material of her t-shirt; "eat _you_?"

Her head fell back as he mouthed her throat. She ran her fingers over his scalp. "Mmm," she said, low and throaty. "I like the way you think, handsome. Lead on."

* * *

_I get tired of writing so much sad/tense shit all the time. I'm rooting for these two crazy kids, and I hate making them miserable. :)_

_Anyway. Additional notes: on ao3 chapter 38 was different than here. That's no longer the case. I've taken the additional content that was at the end of ao3's ch38 and put it in ch24, both here and over there. If you wanna hop back and read it, be my guest. But it's nothing but smut and nobody likes that._

_Also, my notes for ch48 are as follows: _"good god what's gonna happen now?"

_I have several ideas for things, but I don't know if I'm ready for them to happen quite **yet**, so, my loves: you know the drill by now. My Muse lives on reviews. And tears, but that's another subject._


	48. Lions

Sorry I had to skip yesterday, loves. My brain needed a break. :) But here we are, all rested and ready to go!

Enjoy.

* * *

**strain this chaos turn it into light **  
**i've got to see you one last night **  
**before the lions take their share **  
**leave us in pieces scattered everywhere**  
Snow Patrol, "You're All I Have"

Gemma had, as promised, given Olivia the name of her stylist, so the next morning before she and Juice left for the shop she called for an appointment. Apparently Gemma had already made her one, telling the girl it was a "hair emergency." Well. It kind of was.

Juice wanted to take her in on his bike again, but she argued him down. "You gonna go with me to get my hair done, too? Or do you think maybe you'll have club business that'll be keepin' you busy?"

He held up his hands in frustrated defeat. "Fine, Liv. But you're gonna have an escort today. Don't argue."

He so rarely insisted on anything, so rarely acted like the badass biker he purported to be—and besides that she _was_ actually being hunted by a homicidal mad man—that she gave in and kissed him.

"Whatever you say, Juicy," she said, sweetly.

He rolled his eyes and tugged her closer by the waist. "Don't think you're foolin' me. But thank you."

"After last night, baby, you've earned yourself a lot of capital," she murmured as her lips lingered over his. "I think my legs are still tingling."

The image popped into his head immediately: her in a dining room chair, eating a cookie with one hand while the other rested on the top of his head. His face was buried in her cunt; his mouth and fingers worked her. He could feel the ghost of her fingertips tight against his scalp as her attempts to feign disinterest faltered and failed. Several times.

He tried not to grin, but it was impossible. "Well, I mean, it was…" He trailed off with a little shrug and looked away, still smiling like a giddy drunkard.

She laughed, even as it struck her how rarely someone genuinely praised him. It sounded almost silly, to thank your lover for doing something he so clearly enjoyed, but at the same time, if Juice Ortiz had taught her nothing else it was that even the smallest word of kindness could make a huge difference—especially to someone who was so unused to it.

"I'll see you there," she said, running her thumb over the bit of skin his gloves left exposed on the back of his hand. "Ride safe."

He pulled her to him for one last kiss and mounted his bike. He fastened his helmet and waited until she was out of the driveway and on the road before he pulled out behind her. Call it paranoid, but he had trouble taking his eyes off her these days. He couldn't shake the memory of the home invasion, how helpless he'd felt, how guilty for leaving her alone.

His mind snapped to Jax, stuck in jail while his wife lay comatose in a hospital bed, and he winced. At least she was still alive. At least she had a chance. Of course, if Juice had bothered to check her pulse or call 911—but he'd had no idea how common it was to survive a gunshot wound to the head. He'd done some Googling, and the more he read about it the more he wanted to kick his own ass.

Everyone was starting to arrive as he and Olivia pulled up at the shop. They exchanged nods and brief greetings. Chibs offered her a one-armed hug and ruffled her hair.

"Looks better," he said.

"Gemma did some first aid. I'm going in a little bit to get it done for real."

For the other guys it was their first time seeing her, and they all had trouble meeting her eyes. She looked so different. At only a little over five feet she was a petite woman, of course, but somehow her hair had made her look bigger. She'd always worn it up (except for occasionally, in social situations, but that was rare), and it had seemed like a sort of crown for her. A source of mystery, because everyone wondered what it looked like loosed from its complex braids.

It wasn't that she looked _ordinary_ now—they all knew her too well to ever think that of her—but she did look more grounded. Smaller, more vulnerable, more—accessible, but not in any kind of sexual way. Just. More like the type of woman who would accept a one-armed hug and a hair ruffle.

"Let's go inside," Bobby said. "Juice says you got some info for us."

She nodded, but as her eyes scanned the block, she went still.

"What?" Bobby said.

She tilted her head down the street a bit, toward the bridal store. "Someone got here before us."

It was a blue Pontiac Bonneville, maybe a '63. They could see a figure silhouetted in the driver seat. When he saw them notice him, he lifted his hand in a wave, put the car in gear, and drove toward them. He slowed as he went past and leaned toward the passenger side. They all got a good long look at his face with its droll little smirk and chilling eyes.

"Arrogant motherfucker," Tig said.

"I got the plate," said Happy. "We can get a name."

Her chin hitched. "No," she said. "Not a real one. Not one that would do us any good."

"That couldn't be the man himself," Chibs said. "That guy looked maybe thirty-five."

"I don't know him," she said. "I just know who signs his paycheck." Her eyes were far away, her face troubled, and she shivered in the cool morning air despite the leather jacket she wore.

The feel of Juice's warm palm against the small of her back snapped her into the present again. She glanced up at him and flashed a rueful smile.

"C'mon, Liv," he said. "The sooner we find the asshole the sooner this'll all be over."

Once they got inside with the door locked behind them she tossed a flash drive to Juice and he plugged it into his laptop. Just a quick glance at its contents had him shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, you've got everything. Property deeds. How the fuck did you get property deeds?"

"I'm both small and wily. People underestimate me and I use it to my advantage," she said with a shrug.

The guys crowded around Juice and the computer while she wandered away. She grabbed a bottle of water from one of the glass fronts and took a long pull. Her hands were trembling. She shook them out and flexed her fingers. She really should've wrapped her hand after the shower incident yesterday. There was probably an ACE bandage in the first aid kit, and she made a mental note to raid it later.

Chibs had detached himself from the group and now leaned over the counter across from her. She offered him a smile. "Getcha somethin', cowboy?"

"Ach, well, I think eight AM is a little early for liquor or beer, even for a Scot. You got coffee?"

"Nope, but I can start some."

"That'd be real good of you, lass," he said with a wink.

She refused to let him charm her. He might see what had happened yesterday as a mere bump in the road, but to her it had altered the entire landscape of their relationship. Saving her life had been fulfilling a debt. He didn't trust her. She turned away before he could see the memory in her eyes and started to fiddle with the coffeemaker.

"Ollie girl," he said to her back.

His voice was soft. Her hands stilled and she tilted her chin toward him. He took that to mean she was listening.

"You've got nothin' to prove to me, darlin'," he said. "You've your own peculiar brand of honor, and I know it took a great deal for you to give us the stuff you have on Doyle. I don't want you thinkin' my vote had nothin' to do with _you_, and who you are. The woman I know you to be."

Her face creased and she was glad he couldn't see. She didn't trust herself to speak, so she just gave a hard, hasty nod. She dumped coffee into the filter, shut the lid, and hit the button. Realized she'd forgotten the fucking water and started all over again.

By the time she had it going she'd mastered herself. She faced him, and her expression was smooth. "I'm glad to know it, Chibs. Why couldn't you just say that last night?"

"You had your back up. With you sometimes it's better to let things lie for a bit."

Her mouth twisted. "That's not—"

He lifted a brow at her and she subsided with a grimace.

"Yeah, okay," she said, only grumbling a little. "I guess maybe so."

He grinned and reached for his phone as it started to ring. She listened to his end of the conversation intently, and it was clear it was good news.

"What?" she said when he hung up. "What's going on?"

"Lads!" He clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "That was Gemma. Tara's awake!"

There were whoops and cheers all around, but in the midst of it Olivia felt a bubble of panic. She tugged Chibs' sleeve and he twisted back toward her. "Where was Gemma calling from?" she said.

He frowned. "The hospital, I'd assume."

"Is she there alone? I mean, with Tara alone."

"She didn't say." He reached for her hand when she tried to pull it away. "This is the second time you've shown worry about Gemma bein' alone at the hospital. Somethin' you wanna tell me?"

"She just shouldn't be alone. It's a lot to deal with, especially with Jax in jail. Someone should be there for her."

"Aye," he said, drawing the syllable out doubtfully. "Well I assume Unser's probably with her. Sticks like a barnacle, that one."

"Someone should call Nero."

He snorted. "Mr. Padilla wants very little to do with us these days, I'm afraid."

"I'll call him," she said. "He should at least have the option if he wants to take it." She grabbed her bag from where she'd stashed it and started for the door.

"Whoa, Ollie, where ya goin'?" Bobby called before Chibs could.

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling in a bid for patience. She honestly could not take this mother hen bullshit. And she knew it was only partially motivated by concern for her welfare.

"I'm going to stop by the hospital first," she said. "Then I'm going to get my hair cut. Shall I write out an itinerary for you?" She fluttered her lashes at him and her voice was saccharine sweet.

"Liv," Juice said, quietly. She met his worried eyes and felt a flush of guilt. Juice's hovering was, at least, genuine, and if the guys had trouble trusting her it was her own fault.

"Sorry," she said. "Knee jerk. So. Who wants to be my Sir Galahad today?"

They exchanged looks all around. "I don't have a fuckin' clue what that means, but I guess me," Tig said.

There were worse choices, she supposed. One of the new guys, for example. They didn't know her from Eve and had probably voted _yes_ without a second's hesitation. She also didn't like the way Happy had been looking at her this morning. Tig had probably voted against her, too, but she thought he'd at least done it with a heavy heart.

Or so she hoped, anyway.

"Great, Tiggy," she said with a little smile. "You ready?"

"Guess so. Let's hit it."

* * *

She conned her way into Tara's hospital room by telling them she was her sister. She could tell the nurse didn't quite believe it, but she gave in with a sigh that spoke volumes: _I do not get paid enough to deal with this biker gang bullshit so just get the fuck in there and leave me alone_.

"You got ten minutes," she said.

Olivia hesitated a moment. "Where's Gemma? Tara's mother-in-law?"

"Went to get a coffee and make some phone calls. We don't allow cellphones up here."

"Has she talked to her?"

"She was in there for a few minutes earlier, but Dr. Knowles was asleep. We kicked her out when her time was up. Just like I'll do to you."

"Right," she said. "Thanks." She started toward Tara's room with Tig at her heels, but the nurse made a sharp noise.

"Not you, cupcake," she said to Tig. "You gotta wait here."

Olivia smiled back at him and shrugged. She tried not to let her amusement show; she wasn't sure he would appreciate it. "I think she likes you," she whispered to him.

He glanced over at the nurse with her stern, impatient expression. "You think?"

"Never know if you don't try." She elbowed him in the side and left him there to try his luck. She wondered how fast the nurse would shoot him down. Probably already had by now.

She paused a moment to peer through the glass walls at Tara. They'd had to shave her head along one side, and a huge, twisted gash ran across her scalp. It had been stapled shut, and Olivia hoped after some time they could go back and clean it up a bit. Tara wasn't a particularly vain woman, but Olivia knew first hand the stares and questions that accompanied unusual scars. It was no fun.

She slid the door open and stepped inside. Closed the curtain to provide some privacy. At the sound of the metal rings against the bar Tara's eyes fluttered open. When she saw Olivia she smiled just a little, but then her eyes went wide with horror.

"Where am I?" she whispered.

Olivia touched her hand. "You're in the hospital, sweetheart. Do you remember what happened?"

Her mouth trembled. She flipped her hand palm up and gripped Olivia's fingers with surprising strength. "Did Jax do this? Oh God. Where are the boys? Did Jax do this to me?"

"Tara, baby, no! Look at me. Look at my face."

She took a deep, shuddering breath and her dark eyes flicked to Olivia. "What happened to your hair?" she said with a frown.

"Long story. Listen, Jax didn't hurt you. The boys are fine. What's the last thing you remember?"

She closed her eyes and swallowed. "I—you dropped me off at home. I went to Gemma's and held a gun on Wayne and Wendy to get the kids. We went to a hotel." Her eyes opened again and she shook her head against the pillow. "That's it. Did Jax find us?"

"Yes, eventually. But he didn't do this. He was going to turn himself in to Patterson to do the time for the KG-9 in exchange for getting you clear of the nurse, and the club clear of RICO. He was letting you and the boys leave Charming."

Tears formed in her eyes and trailed down her temples. She let out a sob. "Where is he? Why isn't he here?"

"He's in jail, honey. Patterson took him into custody because of the deal." Olivia knew from her own recent bout with head injury that memory loss was common. Tara didn't remember Gemma's role in the attack at all. That would buy them some time, as long as Gemma believed her.

"Tell me what happened," Tara said.

"Yesterday Eli took you home to get what you needed for you and the boys. You were waiting there for Jax; he'd spent the day with Abel and Thomas, and he was going to meet you at the house at six to say goodbye. Patterson was going to pick him up there."

Olivia's voice turned a bit shaky, and she paused to collect herself. "Some men broke in. Took Eli by surprised. They tied you both up and—they—they killed Eli. Something must've startled or interrupted them, because they shot you and ran. Jax found you there. You were still breathing, so he called 911. He was waiting on the ambulance when Patterson showed up."

She absorbed the story in shocked silence. Finally she said, "How do you know he didn't—?"

"First of all," she said, sternly, "by all reports he was out of his mind with grief. I wasn't there, but Juice told me he was…practically unrecognizable." She shifted her weight. "Secondly, they left a note."

"A…note?"

Olivia's mouth twisted and she told Tara about the postcards, the same version she'd told Chibs last night. "There's no doubt in my mind who did this, Tara." She bowed her head. She knew now wasn't the time to thrust her guilt onto her friend, but it was hard.

Tara seemed to understand, because she squeezed Olivia's hand and changed the subject. "Where are the boys? With Gemma?"

She grimaced. "Yeah. I'm sorry, but—"

"There's no one else. I get it."

The nurse appeared and shoved the curtain back. "Time's up, sis," she said.

She sighed but nodded. Leaned closer to Tara to whisper in her ear: "She called Tig _cupcake_."

Tara's hand flew to her face to muffle a snort of laughter.

"Get some rest, love. I'll be back later."

"Thanks for coming, Ollie. And for telling me the truth."

A brief fission of guilt passed through her, but she shoved it down. It was a necessary lie, at least for now. "Sure, Tara. See you soon."

As she stepped out into the hall, Gemma rounded the corner. Her eyes narrowed. Olivia jerked her head back the way she'd come, and when they were side by side she said, "She doesn't remember anything."

"Like I'm gonna trust that."

"She doesn't, Gem. She thought Jax did it."

There was a short, stunned pause. Then, "Jax would never—"

"Apparently Tara thinks he would. She also doesn't remember the deal he made, or anything that happened yesterday. So basically, to her, she's still being hunted."

"Because she was gonna rat," Gemma said with a twist of her mouth.

"I told her what Jax did. I told her everything that happened—except about you or Juice."

"Why the fuck would you protect me now?"

"You know who I'm protecting, Gemma, and it sure as fuck isn't you."

Their eyes met. Fury simmered between them, but Gemma relented first. "I'll uphold my end of our deal as long as you do."

"Good," Olivia said. "It's always nice when two opposing sides can work together toward a mutual goal."

"Yeah? What goal's that?"

"No more bloodshed. No more death. There's been enough, Gemma. When people die no one wins."

After a moment she let out a huff of breath. "I just want to protect my family. I'll do what I gotta do."

"I know you will," Olivia said. "But right now that involves keeping your temper under control and leaving Tara alone. How about you go home and see to the boys? They'll want to know their mommy's feeling a little better. She might even be able to see them in a day or two."

Gemma crowded close, using her height to its full advantage as she sneered down her nose at Olivia. "You don't get to tell me what to do, little girl."

She rested an easy hand on Gemma's arm. Her expression was cool. "Those kids need someone right now, Gemma. Not a nanny. Family. Their dad's in jail and their mom's in the hospital. You want to be a grandmother so goddamn bad? Go be one."

"Ollie! Gem!" It was Tig, and his sudden appearance startled them both.

Gemma wiped her eyes and sniffled before she turned toward him with a smile. "Hey, Tiggy," she said

"Hey, mama." They hugged, and he pulled away with a frown. "You got past me without sayin' hello. Mendez told me you were back here."

"Sorry, baby. I'm not quite myself right now."

"That's understandable. You stickin' around here for a bit?"

"No," Gemma said with a glance at Olivia. "I need to get home to the boys. They need their grandmother."

"And I have an appointment to get to," Olivia said. "Come on, cupcake. Can't go anywhere without my shadow."

"Cupcake?" Gemma repeated.

Tig rolled his eyes. "Don't ask."

"Strike out, Tiggy?" Olivia said with a moue of sympathy.

"Crashed and burned, baby. Fuckin' crashed and burned."

* * *

When Olivia stepped back out in the waiting area of the salon she saw that Tig had wasted no time in cozying up to the busty blonde who'd been waiting when Olivia had been called back. Weird. What time was her appointment?

Tig caught sight of Olivia and disengaged. "Hey!" he said. "It looks great!"

She ran a nervous hand through her hair. The stylist had cut it to just below chin length, and without the weight of it dragging it down, the natural waves came through. It was tousled and casual. Sexy. It softened her features and made her look somehow younger and more mature at the same time.

"Thanks, Tig," she said with a brief quirk to her mouth. She didn't want to admit how badly she'd needed to hear that. She wasn't a vain woman, either, but it was a huge change, and not one she'd chosen.

The blonde sauntered up to them and draped over Tig's shoulders. "Hi, sweetie," she said in a cloying voice. "Cute cut."

"Thanks," she said, shortly. Her eyes ran up and down, assessing, and her gaze snagged on a ring the woman was practically shoving in her face.

"Cindy, this's Ollie. Ollie, Cindy."

"Nice to meet you," Cindy said. "So—Tiggy's your daddy?"

Olivia's brows drew together, because the way she said it did not sound like she meant _father_. Ew. "No. In any sense of the word." Her chin tilted toward Tig. "We should go," she said.

"Lemme just get Cindy's number—"

"Tig," she said. "Now."

"Ooo," Cindy cooed. "I guess I see who's in charge."

Olivia narrowed her eyes and stepped closer. "That's right, sugar. And I suggest you get your cheap manicure off my man before I get upset."

He looked startled, completely taken aback, but before he could speak Olivia grabbed double handfuls of his cut and hauled him down for a scorching kiss. "Come on, baby," she purred. "Let's get out of here."

Shell-shocked, Tig allowed her to drag him out of the salon and to her car. There was an envelope on the windshield, tucked under one of the wipers. She grabbed it and stuffed it into her jacket.

"Get in the car," she said.

"But, my bike—"

"Tig," she murmured. "Please. Just get in the car. I'll explain everything."

After a moment he nodded and slid into the passenger's seat as she crossed to climb in on the driver's side. She started the engine and cranked the radio up before she leaned close and draped her arms around him. He could feel her breath against his skin as she spoke.

"Sorry about that," she said. "Make it look like we're making out. There's a chance he bugged the car."

He put his arms around her waist gingerly. She wiggled across the console to perch in his lap. "Um, Ollie—"

"Hush. Just listen. Did you notice that girl's ring?"

He nodded. "One of those Irish things, right?"

"A claddagh. I don't know how closely you looked, but there was a vine of thorns twined around the hands and piercing the heart."

He winced. "I didn't really—"

"Her tits were a distraction." She glanced at his face and swatted him on the shoulder. Apparently Olivia's tits were a distraction, too. "Eyes front, soldier."

"Sorry," he muttered. It was barely eleven and it had already been a long, frustrating morning. "I'm guessing there's something special about the ring."

"It's Teddy's sort of—I don't know. Coat of arms. He's a pretentious bastard. I wore one like it for six years."

She didn't mention that the one TJ had given her for their fifth anniversary had had tiny, razor-sharp points on each thorn, and if she wasn't careful they could easily scratch deep enough to draw blood.

"She was a spy," he said. "A fuckin' spy."

"Yep. Question is how the fuck did he know to send a spy _here_? I got the name of this place from Gemma. I didn't write my appointment down anywhere or even tell anyone where I was going—except you, before we left the hospital."

"Musta been Bonneville guy, or someone else, followin' us."

She ducked her head to make it look like she was nibbling on his neck. "The lack of subtlety is alarming. He's got something big planned, and it's gonna happen soon."

He reached into her jacket and she let out a squeak. "Realism, sweetheart," he whispered. He emerged holding the envelope. "You gonna tell me about this?"

"Well obviously I don't know what's in it."

He tilted it toward her. "Maybe open it."

She sighed and took it from him. When she ripped it open a stack of photos tumbled out. They both grabbed at them and came up with a few. Her eyes went wide as she realized what she was looking at, and she felt his muscles go stiff beneath her.

"Wait, Tig, wait. It's not what it looks like!"

"No? That's not your old man at Jax's house? With a fucking _gun_?" He lowered his voice to a hiss. "These are dated yesterday, Ollie!"

"Hang on. Please. Let me explain."

"Make it quick," he said through gritted teeth.

She waved one of the pictures under his nose. "Who's that?" she said.

He stared down at it. "Why—what was Gemma—" He broke off and flipped through the stack of photos, surveillance shots that peered into the kitchen window. They told the entire story from the moment Doyle's guys broke in until Juice got Gemma into Wayne's truck and away.

When he finished his face was ashen. He ran a shaking hand through his tangled curls. "Ollie, what the fuck is this?"

"Gemma shot Tara," she whispered in a low, urgent voice. She slid a hand under his cut and pressed a brief kiss to his jaw. "Juice got there in time to stop her, but then she got the gun while he was distracted." She grabbed a picture from the pile and sorted it to the top. "He tried to get to her, but he was too slow. He didn't realize Tara was still alive. There was so much blood, and she was unconscious. I can promise you he would've called for help if he'd known."

"What am I supposed to—why—Jesus Christ, Olivia. Jesus motherfuckin' Christ."

She studied him carefully. She felt that playing the Clay card wouldn't help anything, so she chose a different tack. "He covered for Gemma because of what she means to the club. Things are already so shaky, Tiggy. If you knew that the club's queen regent, the mama bear, had tried to kill the president's old lady, what would happen? And then of course Jax would have to—" She waved a hand.

His head fell back. "Kill his own mother holy fuck."

"Exactly. You were there last night. What sort of state was Jax in?"

"No fucking state to know Gemma did this. And he knew Tara was still alive."

She pulled his chin down so that their eyes met. "Juice thought Tara was dead, and he knew Gemma hadn't killed Eli. He found the postcard on the counter and realized who it had to be from. Rather than turn Gemma in and watch it destroy the club _and_ Jax—because you know it would—he chose to protect her."

"You knew all this. You're protecting her, too."

She hesitated. She thought telling him about the deal she and Gemma had made would probably do more harm than good. She needed him to believe that she and Juice had Gemma, Jax, and the club's best interests at heart.

"For the same reasons Juice did. Teddy _did_ order this hit, Tig. These were his men. They killed Eli and they would have killed Tara if Gemma hadn't gotten there when she did. Teddy is a real and present threat to this club. To this _town_. I don't want to muddy the issue by bringing Gemma into it."

"God, Ollie, God, I don't know—"

"I know you don't. I know. But Juice and Jax are your brothers. If Jax finds out about this, Juice is dead. Jax will be devastated. He will, as you pointed out, have to kill his own mother. After everything the club's been through, all the death and bloodshed, something like this could be the killing blow."

He shook his head like a stunned dog. "Gemma can't have those boys. She tried to kill their mother! She would have if Juice—" He scrubbed both hands over his face. "Okay. Okay. I'll help you cover for Gem until this thing with Teddy's taken care of. After that—after that I don't know. I might have to go to Jax."

She held her breath. Let it out long and slow. "What about Juice?"

He looked away. He was quiet for so long she almost poked up, but finally he found her eyes again. "I won't mention Juicy. I think—I think he made the right call. I don't think I woulda ratted Gem out, either. Not then."

She swallowed hard and brushed her fingers over his face. "Thank you, Tiggy."

He pocketed one of the pictures—Gemma standing in the kitchen with a gun pointed down. It was before Juice had gotten there, so someone who only saw that one wouldn't know he was involved at all. "I'm keepin' this one," he said.

"Teddy has copies, I'm sure. Some sort of insurance." A new thought occurred to her and her face transformed with horror. "He might have left another batch of them somewhere. The shop. This might just be—"

"A warning, Ollie. That's all it is." He ran a comforting hand down her back. "This guy is playin' mind games with you, babe."

He didn't want to say it aloud, but actually it sounded plausible: let the club take care of Juice and save Doyle the time and energy. But Doyle had to know Jax would want Ollie, too, and that couldn't be part of his plan.

Tig shifted a little and she rounded on him. "Alex Trager!"

He flushed and ducked his head. "Ollie, look, it ain't my fault. You're sittin' in my lap, and you smell real good. You fuckin' kissed me!"

She gritted her teeth and crawled back into her own seat. "Next time you want to flirt with someone on Teddy's payroll I'll leave you to it." She spun the dial on the radio to turn the volume down. "I'll meet you back at the shop," she said.

He reached for the door handle but hesitated. "Ollie, listen, about yesterday—"

She held up a hand to cut him off. "I don't need you to unburden yourself to me either way, Tig. You voted the way you thought was right. For or against—well. Your call." Her mouth curved. "I'm just glad it fell out the way it did."

"Me too," he said after a moment. "And I'm sorry about your hair."

"Oh, well. It'll grow. Better than the alternative, right?"

He acknowledged that with a grimace.

She patted his arm. "Go on. I'll see you there."

He gave a long sigh and got out of the car. What a goddamn day.

* * *

_It would've been really easy for me to pair her with Chibs today, but ya know. We know the Chibs/Olivia dynamic. I wanted something different. Also, I thought maybe the club VP would have better things to do._

_I have ideas sketched out for ch49, so hopefully I won't have to skip again tomorrow. I've gotten several new follows/favs in the last couple of days. I'd love to hear from you! :D_


	49. The Smell of It

In this chapter we go from sad to smutty to suspenseful, all in 5.5k words. So buckle your seat belts, dear readers. It's gonna get bumpy.

* * *

**i'm the bottom line of the joke**  
**i am ecstasy spilling like bright egg yolk**  
**i'm the thoughts you're too ashamed to ever share**  
**and i am the smell of it you're trying to wash out of your hair**  
David Gray, "Nemesis"

Chucky was alone at the shop when they got back. He was rearranging the candy wall—something that could keep him entertained for hours—and humming under his breath. When he saw them he stopped short.

"Something's different," he said to Olivia.

"Hum. Don't know, Chucky," she said. "How're things around here?"

"Quiet. Is that a new top?"

She looked down at the flowing dark purple tank she wore over a more fitted lavender camisole and smiled a little. "Nope. Had it a while."

"Huh. Trying out a new lipstick?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but Tig was faster. "For fuck's sake, Chuck, her hair! She cut her fuckin' hair!"

He made a little _o_ of surprise. "Wow. I knew it was something. Looks good. I like it."

"Thanks, Chucky," she said as she struggled not to laugh. He was certainly a breed apart. "I'm going to the back," she told Tig. "I've got Piney's old trike in about a hundred pieces, and it'd be nice to get it put back together."

"Make sure the back door's locked," he said.

"Yes, Dad."

He flinched. "Don't say that, Ollie. That's not fair."

"Oh God," she muttered. "I'll see you guys later." She ducked into the workshop as fast as she could, and she didn't even flick the light on until the door was shut behind her.

"Holy shit!" she said and pressed a hand to her chest. Juice sat on a stool in the corner, still and silent. "What are you doing here in the dark? I didn't even see your bike outside."

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I've gotta go meet Chibs and Bobby in Stockton in a little while, but they had me workin' on that Doyle stuff all morning."

"Ahh," she said. She hung her bag from the rack and slid her hands into her pockets. "Heavy reading."

"Yeah," he said, shortly. His head tilted. "Your hair looks real good, babe."

"That seems to be the consensus, but all things considered I'm not sure anyone would tell me any different."

His face creased. "Come here," he said.

She moved a few steps closer. "What?"

"Just come here, Liv. Please."

Something in his voice caused any quip she might've made to die on her lips. She walked to him. Their faces were level, and he cupped his hands around hers. For a long time he just looked at her, studying each of her features as though he were trying to memorize them.

As if he didn't already know her by heart.

"Juicy, what—"

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her hard against him. His cheek was pressed to her chest, and his shoulders shook with emotion. She hesitated a moment before she ran tender hands over his head and down the back of his neck.

"Talk to me, baby," she murmured. She kissed his scalp and he held on even tighter.

"I didn't know," he said, his voice muffled. "I didn't know there'd be pictures of _you_."

She squeezed her eyes shut and her head fell back. Four years in she'd started documenting the injuries; taking photos and making notes and adding it all to the growing file she had on TJ and his father. She'd forgotten about that part. _Fuck_. Not just Juice had seem them, but all the guys in the club. That wasn't exactly an image of her she wanted them to have.

"Oh," she said, for lack of anything else.

He raised his head and his face was almost unrecognizable. "Was that TJ, or Doyle?"

"They were labeled," she said, quietly. Both, in other words.

He gave a slow nod. "I'm gonna kill him, Olivia. I know you want to do it, but I'm gonna rip his fucking head off."

She pulled away, and he let her go reluctantly. She paced across the room and stood with her back to him, her arms crossed around her middle. "I wish you hadn't seen them."

He hesitated. This was a minefield, he could tell, and he knew if he said the wrong thing or made the wrong move he might do irreparable damage.

"Olivia—" He choked. Cleared his throat and tried again. "Baby…" He stepped up behind her, making sure to shuffle his feet against the concrete so that she heard him. "I love you, Olivia," he said. "You know that. It's not even a question. You know it."

Her chin dropped. "It's just—it's one thing to hear the stories. And I haven't even told you—" She broke off and buried her hands in her hair. "Pictures are different. Now everyone's seen them. Seen _me_. It wasn't what I wanted."

"No, babe, no. Once I realized what I was looking at I made them all leave and said I'd go through it alone. I'm the only one who saw them." He wanted to touch her as bad as he'd wanted anything in his life, but he knew it was better to wait for her to come to him. "What you've been through—shit, Liv, I don't think I coulda survived it."

She spun on him, her eyes hot and dry, her cheeks flushed bright. "It wasn't _brave_, Juice. Don't think that. I'm not some—some _hero_. And you'd probably be amazed at what you can endure."

He absorbed her anger and let it wash through him. It wasn't directed at him anyway. "I love you, Olivia," he said again. It was the only thing that mattered. "I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I don't care how, or where. I just want you and me."

He caught her as she flew at him. Her arms went around his neck and his wrapped around her ribs. He kissed anything he could reach: her temple, her ear, her jaw, the top of her head. "I love you, baby," he whispered into her hair. "So much. Nothin's gonna change that."

Her fingers tangled in his cut and she winced. She needed to tell him what had happened with Tig today, but that could wait. Just then she didn't want to talk much at all. She pushed him backwards. He stumbled, but she held on and followed him until the back of his thighs hit the table's edge. Her mouth was gentle but firm on his, her lips warm, her tongue a seductive tease. She skimmed her nails around the curve of his head, a bare whisper that wouldn't even leave a mark, but was still enough to make him catch his breath.

He broke away to meet her eyes. "_Here_?" he said. "Now?"

She nodded. "Right now."

"The door—"

"Only Tig and Chucky here," she murmured as she brushed her tongue along the line of his jaw. "They'll knock."

His protests were half-hearted at best. He wanted his hands on her as much as she did, and when she pushed his cut off his shoulders and went for his shirt he helped her. Between hot, desperate kisses he managed to nod toward the couch in the corner. "Sofa?"

She peered over his shoulder with a frown. The table was covered with scattered parts from the trike. "Sofa," she agreed.

He tried to take her top off on the way, but she stopped him with a soft _tsk_. "Handsy," she said as she kissed him again.

"I thought you wanted handsy."

He fell onto the couch and reached for her, but she stepped back. She locked the door (much to his relief) and sauntered to him again. He grinned up at her. She smiled and ran her fingers down his chest.

"I'll tell you when you can use your hands," she said in a voice like velvet.

He shivered and sat a little straighter.

She crossed her arms and eyed him up and down. "Strip. Except for your shorts."

He started to stand up, but she raised a finger. "You're fine where you are."

He ducked his head to hide a grin and started with his boots. He kicked them away and tossed his socks after them. His eyes were steady on hers as he unfastened his belt. Lifted his hips to wiggle out of his pants. She smirked at him as he settled again. His cock was semi-erect and straining against his boxers.

"Enjoying yourself, baby?" she said.

"A little," he admitted with a sheepish smile.

She braced her hands on the back of the couch, above his shoulders, and teased his mouth with her tongue. She flicked it against his lips until they parted on a quiet gasp, and then she straightened out of his reach. He gave a brief growl of frustration.

She stepped out of her shoes and slid her jeans off. He watched hungrily as she pulled her tank top over her head, followed by the camisole underneath. Her bra and panties were the same shade of lavender as the cami, and the color set off her delicate skin and made the scatter of freckles across her chest seem to glow.

"You're so fuckin' sexy, Livvie," he whispered through a mouth gone dry.

She laughed and leaned down to kiss him again. She trailed a hand down to rest on the bulge in his shorts. "You're adorable, Ortiz," she murmured as she captured her mouth with his. There was no tease about her kiss this time: it was warm and easy, familiar and so, so sweet.

Her fingers stroked him through his boxers. The cotton felt impossibly thick, a frustrating barrier between them. It didn't take long before he was rock hard and aching, and every brush of the fabric was a sort of agony.

She loved to watch his face, the way his mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. His breath came in harsh pants and every muscle in his body was tight and straining. "Wound a little tight, aren't you, baby?"

His head jerked in a short, desperate nod. "After last night—" He broke off with a whimper as she squeezed him.

Her lips curved. She hadn't let him come last night. It was something she rarely did—she enjoyed his orgasm almost as much as her own—but she'd been in a devilish sort of mood, and she wanted to see how many times he could get her off before he started to beg. Overall she admired his fortitude, and she hadn't been kidding when she'd told him he'd earned a lot of capital.

Unfortunately they didn't have time to play similar games right now. He'd said he was supposed to be in Stockton soon, and eventually Tig would probably come looking for her. He was her shadow, after all.

She leaned away. "You can take your underwear off now," she said.

He did so with a grateful sigh, and when he sat again his cock pressed hard and urgent against his belly. She brushed the tip and then licked the smear of pre-come off her palm. She climbed into his lap and wiggled close so that his erection was trapped between them. Every time she moved he felt her soft, smooth skin slide against him. It was a worse tease than the boxers.

She lapped at a trickle of sweat that made its way down the side of his neck. "You want me, Juicy?" she said, her lips feather-soft, her breath warm.

He gave a drunken nod. His dark eyes were all pupil, lust-wrecked and pleading. "So much, baby. Goin' crazy."

She took one of his hands and slid it between them. He found the edge of her underwear and rubbed his fingers across her slick slit. "I'm going a little crazy, too," she murmured as he stroked a fingertip over her clit.

"Makin' a mess in your pretty panties," he rasped.

"Uh huh. All your fault."

"You started it," he said with half a smirk.

"Oh…" She grabbed his wrist to hold him still. "Well we can stop. If you want. I'd hate—"

He interrupted her with a low growl. Flipped them over so that she was on her back and he was on top of her.

"Hey!" she said, her voice breathless and high. "I was in the middle of something!"

He tugged a cup of her bra down, too impatient to take it off, and sucked the nipple into his mouth. She arched against him, her fingers tight on the back of his neck, and he sucked harder. Captured it with his lips and stroked over it with a rough tongue. He raised his head and grinned.

"We can stop if you want," he said.

"Shut up and fuck me, Ortiz. You know what I want."

And he did. He knew her body almost as well as he knew his own. Every freckle. Every mole. Every scar. The exact pressure she liked when he used his fingers on her clit—as he did now—and the moment when her breathing changed that told him to back off a little. She helped him slide her panties off and pulled her to him eagerly.

He rubbed the tip of his cock up and down, from clit to entrance and back again. "Tell me, Livvie," he said. "Tell me what you want."

She brushed her tongue over her lower lip. Hooked a leg around his waist and hauled him closer. He caught himself with both hands as he fell. Their mouths met. She nipped at his lips with hers, and he moaned as the head of his cock sank into her. She was so _fucking_ wet.

"I wanna hear it, babe," he gasped. "Tell me. Please!"

She wrapped her legs around him, but he pulled them up higher, his hands tight but gentle on her thighs. He didn't want to mark her. He might never want to mark her again.

"I need you, Juicy," she said. Their eyes were locked and steady. He pushed in a little deeper. "I love you. You and me, sweetheart. No matter what."

He buried himself inside her with one long thrust. Her nails dug into his shoulders as her head fell back. He pressed his mouth to her collarbone and savored the salty-sweet taste of her.

"Fuck, baby!" she said in a low, muffled moan. "Move, Juicy, please! Just _move_."

"Like this?" he said through gritted teeth as he rocked his hips in short, unsteady jerks designed to drive her nuts.

She let out a groan of frustration. "I hate you so much right now," she said between gasps.

"Liar," he mumbled.

"Ha. Maybe just—a little."

He tried to laugh, but she clenched hard around him and his mind blanked. She giggled. Shoved at his shoulder until he got the message and sat up, pulling her with him.

"I told you I was right in the middle of something," she said. She reached behind her to unclasp her bra. Tapped a finger against his mouth, then against one of her nipples.

He arched her backwards and ran his tongue across first one of the swollen little buds, and then the other. She lifted her hips and slid down onto him. His teeth sank in, harder than he meant them to, but when he lifted his head to apologize she cut him off with a kiss. Bit his lower lip and lathed her tongue over it.

"I'm not any more fragile than I was this morning, baby. You're not gonna break me."

"I know." He gripped her hips to move her slowly up and down. "Just—just don' ever wanna—fuck goddamn that's good—hurt you."

"Right now—hurts more to go so _fucking slow_," she said, each word punctuated by a strangled gasp.

"Oh, well…" He rocked up into her, and she dropped down to meet him. Her arms went around his shoulders and she buried her face in his neck to muffle her soft cries and moans. They were both slick with sweat, aching with need, and she tucked her feet under his thighs to give her more leverage as she moved faster. Harder.

He whispered a litany of incoherent pleas and promises into her ear. Her heart pounded against his and he stroked his hands along the smooth line of her back.

"Come with me, baby," she said, half-begging, half-commanding.

It was more than he could handle, and it took every ounce of his self control to not come right then. He clenched his jaw and his hips bucked. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her short nails left half-moons on his skin and he took advantage of her lifted chin to trail long, sucking kisses up and down her throat.

Her orgasm was less an explosion than a long, heated swell, like dropping slowly into a scalding bathtub. She whimpered, breathy and wordless, and gave in to it. It rippled through her in wave after wave until she felt flushed and boneless. Finally she collapsed against him and he held her as she trembled with aftershocks.

"Babe," she said when she finally had her breath back, "you didn't—"

He raised her chin and brushed a thumb across her cheek. "I was watchin' you," he said. "I didn't wanna miss anything." He gave her a soft, unhurried kiss. "I love you, Olivia."

Her lips curved. "I love you, Juan Carlos."

He shifted. She hissed. She was almost too sensitive for it to feel good. He held her still a moment.

"So," he said, seemingly from nowhere, "you gonna marry me or not?" The vulnerability in his eyes belied the light tone.

She laughed and he shuddered. "Yeah, Ortiz. I'm gonna marry you. You ever really doubt it?"

"Dunno. You're stubborn."

She slid off his lap and knelt between his thighs. "Uh huh." She smoothed her tongue up and down his slick shaft, licking it clean with long, thorough strokes. "Stubborn," she said, "but not stupid."

She sucked the head into her mouth and wrapped her fingers around him. Mouth and hand moved in sync, short and quick followed by slow and easy.

"Babe," he grunted, "I can't—"

She lifted her gaze to his. He could see the impish twinkle in her eyes as she sucked him harder. Deeper. The back of his head hit the wall and his mouth fell open. He fisted the cushions on either side and his whole body gave an involuntary jerk as he came. His cock spasmed again and again between her lips. Her tongue swirled around him and she sucked down every hot, sticky drop.

She pulled back just before it became uncomfortable. Pressed the tip of her finger to the corner of her mouth and wiped delicately. He was sprawled against the couch, his lungs bellowing in and out and his mouth hanging open in stunned disbelief.

"You okay, love?" she said, amused, and touched his knee.

He could only manage a wordless nod. He held out his hand, and when she accepted it, he pulled her up to sit beside him. She curled against him and kissed his shoulder.

"I'm gonna be so fuckin' late," he said. "Can't believe no one's called yet."

"Just tell 'em you were having raunchy sex in the back room. They'll appreciate it and won't ask questions."

"Right," he said with a laugh. He brushed his fingers through her hair. "I really do like it."

"I'm—adjusting. It's a lot lighter. Gonna be less work."

He pressed his nose to her neck. Pulled back with a puzzled frown. "You smell different. Is it hairspray?"

"Maybe," she said.

"Except—" He sniffed again. "It smells kinda familiar. Just…not quite like you."

Damn Tig and his fucking knockout aftershave. Her car probably reeked of it, too.

She cleared her throat. "Ah. Haha. Well, okay, funny story…"

* * *

He'd taken it better than she'd hoped, really. He'd actually laughed when she told him the part about kissing Tig and dragging him out of the salon—but when she mentioned the photos, all traces of levity disappeared. She explained the reasoning she'd used on Tig, and his response to it.

He seemed comforted, a little, when she assured him that Tig seemed to understand what Juice had done, and why. They'd gotten cleaned up and dressed in an uncomfortable, brooding silence, but finally he pulled her to him and held on tight.

"It was good thinking," he said. "Better not to've mentioned Clay. They'd kinda fallen out near the end, but Tig loves Gem like crazy."

"That's what I thought."

He sighed and rubbed his cheek against the top her of head. "Doyle could send the copies to the club."

"It's a risk," she acknowledged with a frown.

"We'll just have to find him before he does," he said, his voice steady and sure.

She lifted up to press a kiss to his jaw. "You better get to Stockton," she said. "Chibs'll think you're either dead or tryin' to be."

His mouth twisted. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

"Liar. I'm hilarious and you know it."

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he kissed her, briefly. "Yeah, you are. I'll see you tonight? But don't go home by yourself. Wait for me."

"I know," she said and rolled her eyes. She grinned. "I know! I'll take Tiggy."

"Really. Not funny." But he was half-laughing as he said it. "I wish I coulda seen his face."

"Pretty fuckin' priceless, to be honest." Her expression stilled and she tugged him down to look at her. "Babe. You know it was just a cover, right? I mean, completely. I would never—"

"Stop. It's fine. It was a—weird situation, and you did what you had to do." He broke off with a smirk. "Besides, we just had raunchy sex in the back room. That mostly makes up for it."

"Mostly? What, I didn't suck your dick hard enough?"

"Well, no, that's not—"

"Nuh uh," she said and waved a hand. "No, come on. Drop your pants. I'll suck your dick all day long. I'll suck your dick till you can't see straight. I'll suck your—"

"Oh God please don't say it again. I've got to go to Stockton and trying to ride a motorcycle with a boner is fucking impossible."

She subsided with a pleased smile. "Carry on, Ortiz. I'll be here when you get back." She patted his ass as he turned away, and he flashed a grimace over his shoulder.

"Later, Liv. Later," he said with an odd mix of amusement, lust, and threat. The door shut behind him, and he could still hear her laugh as he walked away.

She lingered in the workshop for a bit after he was gone, but finally she wandered out to the front. Chucky was still there, parked in a booth with TM's books spread out in front of him. Tig dozed with his head on a table.

"Just the man I needed to see," she said and slid into the booth across from Chucky.

He looked up in surprise. "Me? Really?"

Her mouth quirked. "You have an envelope you could spare? Maybe some paper?"

"Yeah. I keep my office-in-a-box well stocked." He dug through the clear file box on the seat next to him and emerged with the supplies she'd requested.

"You're a peach. Thanks." Quiet fell as she wrote out a long, multi-page note and signed her name at the bottom. She folded it around a small stack of photos and stuffed it all into the envelope. "Seal it for me? I hate the taste of the glue."

He frowned a little but did as she asked. When she took it from him he noticed she still had on the black latex gloves she wore in the shop. Clearly she didn't want the letter's recipient to know who'd sent it beyond just the name. His DNA was on file, but, unlike her, he wasn't wanted for murder.

She smacked Tig lightly on the shoulder as she went past him. He jerked awake with a muttered curse. She tapped her chin. He looked befuddled for a second before he caught on and wiped away a string of drool. "I'm going across the street to the mailbox. I'll be in sight the whole time. Think I can go on my own?"

He scowled at her and waved a hand. She grinned and hurried away before he could change his mind.

When she got back Tig was at the bar. She grabbed three beers from the glass front, but Chucky shook his head at her offer and she put one back. Tig took a long pull off his and nodded his thanks.

"Nice nap?" she said.

"Not bad. Got a crick in my neck, though. Rub it out for me?"

"Rub it out yourself," she said and threw her beer cap at him. "I'm sure you know how."

He hooted a laugh that she ignored. "Hey, Chuck, what're these?" she said. There were three little bottles perched further down the bar. They were clear, unlabeled, and filled with pale pink…lotion, it looked like.

"Lotion," he confirmed.

Tig gestured with his beer. "Some guy came in earlier, said he was openin' a bath store down the block. Offered some samples."

"I got one for you, Gem, and Tara—for when she's feeling better."

"That's sweet, Chucky," she said with a smile. She grabbed one on her way to the back and unscrewed the lid. She was facing away from them, so they couldn't see her expression when she got a whiff of the scent.

Strawberries.

She whirled around. "What did he look like? The guy. The lotion guy!"

Tig's brow creased. "What's wrong, Ollie?"

She waved the bottle at him. "Strawberries. It smells like strawberries. What did he _look_ like?"

He and Chucky exchanged confused glances, but finally Chucky said, "Mid-fifties. Nice suit. Blond hair. Uh—sophisticated, I guess. Like he had money."

Her eyes drifted shut. There was no color in her face, and her mouth was a tight line. "We need to get out of here," she said. "Now."

Tig shot up from his seat and hauled Chucky out of the booth by his collar to drag him along with them. "That was the guy? He was right the fuck here handing out _lotion_?"

The door behind Olivia burst open. A masked man grabbed her around the waist and pressed a gun to her temple. Tig reached for his weapon, but another group stormed through the front windows. Broken glass flew everywhere, and the three of them did a hasty, startled duck-and-cover. By the time Tig had his wits back it was too late: there were four very large automatic weapons pointed at his face, and two more on Chucky. He had no choice but to obey their command to drop his gun and kick it away.

Once they were sure the place was secure, the one holding Olivia yanked her sideways, away from the door. A man strolled in—mid-fifties, nice suit, blond hair, sophisticated—and adjusted his cuffs. Gold cufflinks winked. The ring on his pinkie was an unusual take on the traditional _claddagh_ design.

"Audra my strawberry," he said, his voice pleasant and warm, "it's been far too long."

Her mouth twisted, but otherwise her face registered no surprise. He might as well have called ahead as leave that lotion. "Congratulations, Teddy. You found me. Only took you eight fucking _years_."

He wagged a finger at her. "No reason to be rude, darling." He paused and looked around with a moue of distaste. "You said the lover would be here."

One of the men pulled off his mask. It was the guy from the Bonneville. "He was. He moved his bike to the back a few hours ago. We haven't seen him leave."

"You missed him," Olivia said, viciously. "He's long gone. I guess your boys here dropped the ball."

He stepped closer, until they were nearly touching, and lowered his head to sniff her hair. "Pity," he said. "Well. We'll soon change that."

She still had the little plastic bottle in her hand. She threw it, hard, and sickly-sweet smelling lotion spattered the front of his suit and up onto his face. His eyes turned hard. He let out a sigh and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Let her go," he told her guard. "Move," he said to her, "and I kill both of these men. Understand?"

Her entire body quivered with the need to attack, but she jerked her head in acknowledgement. Teddy nodded to the guard, and he fumbled in her back pocket until he came out with her knife. Teddy tucked it away. He carefully daubed lotion from his shirt and neck, but finally he gave it up as no good.

"You've ruined my suit," he said.

"Give me back my knife and I'll see what I can do with your face," she said, sweetly.

Tig snorted out a chuckle and Bonneville guy punched him in the stomach. He doubled over with a groan and he kicked him in the kidneys. Olivia threw up her hands.

"Okay! Stop! I'm sorry. What do you want, Teddy? Let's just get this over with."

"Oh, Audra," he said, almost regretfully, "you know what I want. You murdered my son. I'm afraid there's only one course for us, my little strawberry."

"Stop calling me that," she said through gritted teeth.

He lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug and turned away. "Lovely establishment you have here. It's a shame what happened to the old place. The IRA can be so"—he sighed—"indelicate."

He brushed at a spot on one of the tables. "Imagine my vexation if you'd been caught in the blast. Killed or, worse, injured!"

"As if you give a fuck."

"You wound me, Audra. While it's true our time together will be necessarily unpleasant—for you, of course—I would never wish you ill. No, it thrills me to no end to see you alive and healthy. Happy, even."

He pivoted slowly and fixed her with crystal blue eyes. "Because you are happy, aren't you? With your biker lover?" He shuddered with distaste. "How gauche. I hadn't thought you so easily…satisfied."

Chucky was right beside him, and for a moment she thought he might make a move. One of the guards raised his gun and Chucky dropped his head. Teddy studied him a moment.

"Interesting," he said in regard to his hands. "Wherever does one acquire such a thing?"

Chucky scowled, but finally he said, "Ollie made them."

"Ahh!" Teddy said, delighted. "Very clever, Audra dear. You always were a tinkerer."

His condescending tone infuriated her. Her breathing deepened and she felt the pressure of a gun against her back. She stilled.

Teddy pulled her knife from where he'd hidden it. He flipped it open and studied the blade. It was razor sharp and gleaming; she obviously took excellent care of it.

"A lovely if unsubtle weapon. But, then, that does seem to be your style." He tapped it against his left wrist.

He glanced over his shoulder at Tig huddled on the floor. "Take her," he said. "The biker too."

The smile he offered Chucky chilled her from across the room. "Teddy, don't. Whatever you're thinking—please. I'll come with you. You don't have to—"

"As much as I enjoy the sound of your pleading, you should save your breath. Of course you'll come with me."

The guard twisted her arms behind her. Secured her wrists with cable ties that he drew too tight. Tig got the same treatment from Bonneville and his buddy. They dragged him to his feet and stuffed a black bag over his head. He tried to fight, but even as he roared in protest one of them plunged a syringe into his arm. Gradually he fell quiet and slumped against them like a dead weight.

"You don't need to drug me," she said. "I'll be quiet. I won't say a word. Or I'll say any word you want. Leave them alone. You've got me."

He sighed as if disappointed. She felt the needle's sting in her arm, and the last thing she saw before the bag closed over her head was Teddy. He flicked his hand and sliced Chucky's arm in the precise spot where she'd cut hers eight years ago. The movement was casual, almost bored, and for a moment she thought he hadn't done any damage. But suddenly the blood sprayed, hot and crimson, and he leaned out of its path.

She screamed, a wordless cry of horror, but the drug did its work fast and it felt like weights were tied to her limbs. He shoved the bag down, and everything went black.

* * *

_We're 49 chapters and 200k words in and our villain has FINALLY made his appearance. The others were just teacup villains; very small; this one's the real deal._


	50. Truth

Slightly shorter chapter today, loves. But it gets the job done. :)

* * *

**blind circle, moon and sun **  
**body willing, mind undone **  
**one pain ending while another begins **  
**lies, ruin, disease **  
**into wounds like these **  
**let the truth sting**  
David Gray, "Let the Truth Sting"

Patrol cars from the sheriff's office lined the street. Their lights were on, bathing everything in a garish red and blue glow. There were some rubber neckers, and the general mood of the crowd was angry. Everyone knew SAMCRO rented the old ice cream shop. Now, typically, they'd brought more violence to Charming. It was their fault Sheriff Roosevelt was dead, after all, and death seemed to follow the club like a plague.

Happy and Quinn were waiting for Juice, Chibs, and Bobby when they pulled up. Rat was on hospital duty and West was guarding Gemma. Tig had been unreachable for the last half hour, which is what had gotten them worried about trouble in the first place.

Juice jumped off his bike before it even came to a complete stop. It stalled out and tipped over, but he ignored it as he charged toward the barricade. Happy and Quinn grabbed him, and a second later Chibs and Bobby joined them.

"Where is she?" he cried. "What the fuck happened?"

"Cops were already here," Happy said. "Won't tell us a fuckin' thing. New sheriff's a hard ass bitch. Juice, fuck, calm down!"

"Lad," Chibs said. "Relax a mo'. We'll figure it out. Doesn't help anything to fight us."

Reluctantly he subsided and slumped against Chibs. The older man took his weight easily, and waved the others off when they tried to help.

"Lady Sheriff?" Bobby said.

"Yeah," said Happy. "Donnelly." He nodded toward the shop. "Over there."

She was tallish, thin, with long dark hair pulled back in a tail. Late thirties or early forties. Extremely competent from the look of things. She was unhurried and calm as she ordered deputies here and there.

"Windows are broken out," Quinn said. "Maybe the place just got bricked."

"Don't think that'd bring every fuckin' cop in Charming," Juice growled. "It was him. It was Mick _fucking_ Doyle."

"Wait here," Bobby said. "I'm gonna see if I can get some answers."

He trundled to the police tape and waved until he had the new Sheriff's attention. She gave some more instructions to the deputy before she headed his way.

"Your place?" she said with a raised brow.

"Yep. I'm Bobby Munson, President of SAMCRO. You can call me _Bobby_." He held out a hand, and after a long, assessing study, she accepted.

"Sheriff Kate Donnelly. You can call me _Sheriff_."

He liked her immediately. He wasn't sure why. Something about her wary, shrewd gaze, or the way she shook his hand, strong and direct. She pulled out of his grip, and he got the feeling the sentiment wasn't returned.

"Look, Sheriff, we've been gone all day, but we had people in there. One of our members. Our office manager. A mechanic. What the f—_hell_—happened?"

Her mouth quirked at his self-censorship. "We aren't exactly sure. The 911 call came in about twenty minutes ago. First responders found a man inside, injured but alive."

"Tiggy?" Chibs said as he and Juice joined them at the barricade.

"Don't know. He was gone by the time I got here. On his way to St. Thomas."

"Quinn, Hap, get to the hospital," Chibs barked over his shoulder. "An ambulance brought someone in, either Chucky or Tig."

They took off for their bikes and roared down the street.

"Was there a woman?" Juice said. "A redhead." He held out his hand. "So tall."

"Your office manager?"

Chibs' grinned, hard and cold. "_Mechanic_, and the lad's old lady."

She almost smiled at the irony of her assumption, but she swallowed it at the last minute. She was sure these men wouldn't appreciate it. The "lad," as the Scottish one had referred to him, looked terrified and half out of his head with grief. She reached across the tape and rested a brief hand on his arm, moved in spite of herself.

"There was no one else," she said. "I'm sorry. Maybe she wasn't here at all. You said there were two men and a woman; maybe two of them left together, and whoever did this caught the other man alone."

"Tiggy's bike's still here," Bobby said, grimly.

"Ollie's car, too." Chibs sighed and scraped a hand down his face. "Tell me, lass—" He broke off at her sharp, disbelieving look and tried again. "Pardon, Sheriff Donnelly. Chibs Telford. Juice Ortiz," he said, slapping himself and then Juice on the chest in turn.

She acknowledged his introductions with a brief lift of her brow. "Try to call them," she suggested.

"That's just the thing, ma'am," Bobby said. "We've been tryin' to get Tig and haven't had any luck."

"The girl then." She waved a hand.

"Olivia," Juice said, his voice bleak.

"Olivia. Try her."

They'd tried earlier when they couldn't get Tig, but with a sigh Juice dragged out his phone and hit her speed dial button again. "Straight to voicemail," he said.

She glanced over her shoulder. Her face was tight and angry. "You assholes," she said when she looked back. "First your club gets Roosevelt killed—a good man and a good cop—and now this fuckin' shit. I should haul you all in."

"Sheriff, Eli was a friend of Olivia's," Juice said. "They respected each other. He would help us try to find her rather than standing in our way." His voice was low and cold, and it vibrated with barely-contained tears.

Her head tilted. "Was that a threat, Mr. Ortiz?"

Chibs held up his hands. "All right, let's all just relax. That's not at all what he meant. Was it, Juicy? He's just upset."

"Right. She's his old lady." She said the words with a mix of disgust and skepticism.

Chibs took Juice by the arm and pulled him away. "Go sit down," he said and pointed to the curb.

"Chibs—"

"Go, Juicy! Get your head together. You're not helpin' anyone, least of all Ollie, actin' like a dumb shit."

"We gotta find her, Chibs. I can't lose her. I can't—I shouldn't've left her. I shoulda stayed here." His chin fell to his chest and he let out a quiet sob.

He gripped Juice's shoulders and shook him just a little. "Tig was here. She wasn't alone. We'll find her." He pulled him close and cradled the back of his head. "We'll find her, lad." His eyes met Bobby's, and they shared matching expressions of icy fury.

"As you can see," Bobby said to Donnelly, "Olivia and our brother—Tig—are important to us. We want 'em back safe and sound. Anything you can tell us would be appreciated."

"Mr. Munson," she said with a hard smile, "you need to understand something. I don't like you. I don't like your club. I want you gone, put away and dismantled and out of my county."

"Understandable," he said. "But you should know we _all_ liked Sheriff Roosevelt. He was a good man, like you said. None of are happy about what happened to him."

"Hum. Does that have something to do with this?"

"Might."

"You need to tell me what you know."

"Quid pro quo," Chibs said. "We'll show you ours if you show us yours."

Her eyes narrowed, but after a moment she called a deputy over and whispered something to him. He cast a doubtful glance across the barrier, but he nodded and ran to do as she ordered. He was back fast, and he handed her two clear evidence bags. She waved him away.

"We found these on the counter." She held them up for their inspection. "This," she said, shaking the bag that contained a bloodstained switchblade with a brass knuckles handle, "was weighing down this." The other bag held a photograph. She flipped it over and Chibs leaned closer to read the writing.

_I always did love strawberries._

"Mean anything to you?" Donnelly asked.

"No," Chibs said. "Juice?"

He shook his head, but of course it was a lie. They all knew of Olivia's aversion to strawberries; she couldn't even stand the sight of them, much less the smell or the taste. No one had ever asked her about it, and they assumed it was an allergy or something. Apparently not.

"Gentlemen," she said, "it might be easier for me to help you if I get a little something back. I think you know who did this, and I think you know why. It doesn't feel like a random attack to me, or even retaliation for your gang activity."

"We're not a gang," Bobby said. "We're a motorcycle club."

"Mea culpa," she said with a smile that didn't touch her dark eyes. "I misspoke." She stepped a little closer and lifted her chin to look Bobby in the eye. "Keep your cuts covered in my county," she said. "They're gang colors and I don't wanna see them."

"Roosevelt felt the same," he said. "We don't have a problem with it."

"Good." She turned on her heel, but Bobby's voice stopped her.

"How long till we get our shop back?"

"I don't know, Mr. Munson. Depends on if your guy dies or not. I'll keep you posted." And then she was gone, out of earshot and out of sight amongst the milling deputies.

"Jesus," Juice said. "Happy wasn't kidding."

"I like her," Bobby declared.

"Oh no, Bobby. No crushes on the new lady Sheriff!"

"I didn't say that," he said. "I just said I like her. She's got balls."

Chibs rolled his eyes. "You get a good look at that photo?"

"Nah, not really. Just looked like a warehouse to me."

"It's where he has her," Juice said.

"Aye," said Chibs. "She said he wouldn't kill her…right away." His voice caught and he cleared his throat. "Still. The sooner we find her the better."

"You think he took Tig or Chucky?" Bobby said.

"Tiggy. More valuable as a hostage."

"If he's still alive," Juice said.

"Thank you, Mary Sunshine," Bobby said and clapped him on the back.

He shrugged and made a face. They both watched him as his jaw worked and his fists clenched and loosened. He raised his head and look at each of them in turn. "There's somethin' I gotta tell you guys. You can do whatever you think is right and I won't argue, but I think you should know the truth."

"About what, lad?" Chibs said.

"Tara. The attack. Who did it."

They exchanged puzzled looks. "Doyle's guys did it. The postcard…?"

"Doyle's guys killed Eli." He swallowed hard and clenched his teeth. Then, "Gemma shot Tara."

They were suddenly enclosed in a bubble of silence. All the hustle and bustle of the crime scene faded. It was just the three of them, alone, the two bigger men glaring in disbelief and Juice calm and steady, dry-eyed and collected.

"How would you know somethin' like that, Juicy?" Chibs said, carefully.

"Pretty serious accusation to make without any proof," Bobby added.

"I don't have proof, exactly," Juice admitted, "but I was there. I tried to stop her, but I fucked up. When she shot Tara I thought she was dead. I kind of—I panicked. I know Gemma's just an old lady, but she's important to this club. It woulda imploded a long time ago without her."

Bobby tugged hard at his beard while Chibs spun around in a full circle, a hand fisted in his hair. He crowded close, glowering down at Juice.

"You knew this all along? You knew what she did and you covered it up?"

"I'm guessing Ollie knows, too," Bobby said.

"You wanna be the one to tell Jax?" Juice said. He didn't flinch from Chibs' glare. "Go ahead. You know what he'll do. And you know what it'll do to him. You want that on your head?" He lifted his arms in a shrug. "I don't. I thought she was dead. I didn't think there was any way to help her. Yeah, that was a fuck up—I admit it. But I don't regret covering for Gemma. There's gonna be a time for justice, but right now ain't it."

"Goddammit," Bobby said. "You arrogant little prick. You think you got a right to decide what's best for this club? That's the _table's_ job, not yours! You shoulda brought this to us!"

Chibs inserted an arm between them. "The lad's right, Bobby."

He turned on him and Chibs held up his hands. "He brings this to the table, and what? The whole club knows that Gem tried to kill the President's old lady. Her own daughter-in-law. The mother of her grandchildren. We're on thin ice, brother. This could divide us like lightning hittin' a tree."

"I'm telling you now," Juice said, "because you need to know. Olivia was keepin' Tara safe—she told Gemma she'd keep her secret as long as Tara was okay—but with her gone, Gemma might try to do something."

"Kill Tara, you mean."

"If she gets her memory back Gemma's fucked."

"This is a fuckin' nightmare," Chibs said. His phone rang and he cursed again. "It's Hap," he said and answered it.

"It's Chucky," Happy said. "I talked to him already. He's kinda dopey, lost a lot of blood, but they got him stitched up. He said a guy Ollie called _Teddy_ cut his fuckin' wrist with her knife. He had a bunch of guys with him, heavy artillery. They got Tig and Ollie, drugged 'em and dragged 'em out. He passed out after that and doesn't remember anything else."

"Fuck me sideways," Chibs said. "Thanks, Hap. Stay with him. Keep him talkin' to see if he can remember anything else."

"Sure thing, brother. Talk soon."

They disconnected and Chibs shook his head. "They got Ollie and Tiggy. Doyle came personally."

"This girl got a platinum pussy or somethin'?" Bobby said. "Why the fuck's everyone got such a hard-on for her?"

Juice snarled and Chibs grabbed him again. "All right, enough. We're still brothers here."

"A brother's somebody you trust," Bobby said, heavily. "Not sure that applies to all of us."

Juice glared at him. He reached up and ripped the Redwood Original patches off one side of his cut, and the Man of Mayhem patch off the other. He held them aloft for a moment before he opened his hand to let them flutter to the ground.

"Don't worry about it, Bobby," he said. "You think you can't trust me. That I'm a danger to this club. After everything I've done—" He broke off. "Fuck it. I'm gone."

"It ain't that easy, Juicy!" Bobby called as he walked away.

He picked up his bike and got it started on the second try. They watched him drive away, each thinking his own troubled thoughts. Chibs knelt to retrieve the patches and shoved them in his pocket.

"I'll talk to him," he said.

"Don't bother," said Bobby. "He wants to go? Let him. He belongs in a fuckin' grave anyway."

Chibs shook his head. "You got no idea the shit Jax put that boy through. He made a bad choice about Gem, but he did it for the right reasons." He was glad, then, that he hadn't told Bobby about Miles and the coke. There'd be no way he could talk him into something different if he had. "He wants out anyway. After we find Ollie we'll take the vote and let him patch out the right way."

Bobby fixed him with a gimlet stare. He was furious with Juice, betrayed and seething, but he was sick of all the death. He'd voted Mayhem for Clay because it was right for the club; once Jax found out about Gemma it would be a huge blow to everyone. Killing Juice in addition to all that just seemed…excessive. But Bobby couldn't let him off the hook. Couldn't just swallow what he'd done and let it fly.

"You want me to give him another chance, then you gotta vouch for him. He fucks up again it's on you, Chibby," he said, jabbing his finger at Chibs with every word.

"As you say, Bobby," he said with a grave nod.

"Good." He rubbed both hands over his face. Fuck he was exhausted. "Now let's fuckin' find Olivia and Tiggy and kill that motherfucker Mick Doyle. I think we're gonna have to draw straws to see who gets the honors."

Chibs thought, but didn't say, that it would take a braver man than Alice Telford's boy to go against Olivia Gable on this one. _A dangerous woman_, he mused. Indeed.

* * *

When Olivia opened her eyes the light was like an assault. She shut them again, fast, and after a moment spent cringing against the brightness, she slowly cracked them again. Held a squint as she waited for them to adjust. Eventually she could sort of see, but still it was painfully bright. Pupils dilated from the drugs, she reckoned.

Her head ached. Her mouth felt like sandpaper. Her hands, tied as they were behind her, were numb and her wrists chapped and aching. She was secured to a metal pole in the middle of what seemed like a warehouse. Other poles stood nearby, but they were all empty but one.

"Tig!" she croaked. Her voice was a dry rasp. She rolled her tongue around in a desperate attempt to moisten her parched mouth. "Tiggy, please." He was too far away for her to kick. "Wake up, Tig!"

He jolted upright and slammed his lids shut as soon as he opened them. "Holy goddamn motherfuck what the ever-lovin' fuck Jesus Christ son of a bitch."

She was impressed by his ability to curse given the situation. "Take it slow," she said. "The drugs are fucking with your eyes."

He muttered under his breath for a while, but finally he took a deep breath and tried again. "So I'm guessin' that was your long-lost father-in-law," he said, squinting at her across the light-flooded space.

"The one and only. Charmer, huh?"

He snorted. "Real one of a kind." He went quiet. Then, "I'm sorry, Ollie. I fucked up. Shoulda been more careful. I got lazy."

"No, Tiggy, it's not your fault. If there'd been more than just you and—and Chucky there, he probably would've killed all of you."

"Where is Chucky?" he said and craned his neck to get a better look around.

"I—" She didn't want to tell him the truth. She needed him calm. "They left him back at the shop. Tied him up. I guess so he could tell the guys what happened."

"Fuck. Poor guy can't even jerk off to deal with the stress."

"Priorities, Tiggy."

"Yeah," he said. "Any idea where the fuck we are?"

"I was out when they brought me in, just like you. Drugged and black-bagged."

He caught her gaze with his. "What're our chances?"

She was silent so long he thought she wouldn't answer. "I don't know," she finally said. "I thought I could predict him, but I honestly wouldn't have expected him to grab you. It might mean he's looking to negotiate."

"Negotiate what?"

"No clue. He's got a lot of business interests. Maybe, for some reason, he thinks the club can be an asset."

"Fuck that," Tig said. "I'd rather be dead than let the club get in bed with this shit bag."

"Oh, Tiggy, be careful what you wish for," a voice cooed from the shadows.

The both recognized it. Tig's head fell back and he cursed some more, even more impressively than the first time.

"Such a mouth," she said. She sauntered into the light, and the trashy blonde from the salon was transformed into a sleek, elegant minx. She wore a figure-hugging black dress and four-inch heels with Louboutin's signature red soles. Her blond hair was pulled up in a sexy, tousled chignon, and her makeup was impeccable, from her sultry, smoky eyes to her raspberry lipstick.

Now this woman looked more like someone who would interest Teddy. Olivia smiled a little. "Is your name even Cindy?"

"No," she admitted with a pout. "But that's what Teddy likes to call me. Short for _Cinderella_. He says I'm his Pygmalion."

"What the fuck's that?" Tig said.

"You seen _My Fair Lady_?" Olivia said.

"With Audrey Hepburn. Of course. Was Fawn's favorite movie when she was little. I think she just liked the costumes. Dawnie hated the whole thing."

"It's based on _Pygmalion_ by Bernard Shaw. She means she's Teddy's project."

Cindy slinked closer and ran a hand down Olivia's face. Her nails were sharp and blood red. "So you're the famous Audra. Teddy's told me all about you."

"I go by _Olivia_ now."

Her mouth curved. "Not anymore, sweetheart." She grabbed Olivia's chin and pressed a hard, punishing kiss against her mouth. Olivia endured it with a tense jaw and set shoulders, and as soon as Cindy released her she turned her head and spat.

Cindy ignored that and brushed her tongue over her lower lip. "You don't taste anything like strawberries," she said, "and you're not even that pretty."

"I've got a lot goin' on under the hood," she rasped.

That seemed to genuinely amuse her. "That must be it. Otherwise I can't imagine why Teddy would waste so much time and energy chasing you all over the country."

"I killed his son, Cindy. He tell you that?"

She flicked her fingers. "Of course he did." She patted her flat belly. "Don't worry, though. Nine more months and he'll have another one."

Tig decided it was time to intervene before Olivia figured out a way to bite Cindy's face off. "Hey, gorgeous, you think you could get us some water? Parched as hell over here."

Her head tilted. She didn't take her eyes off Olivia. "I don't see why not," she said at last. She spun toward Tig and grabbed a handful of his hair. Pulled hard enough to make him wince. She giggled at his pained expression.

"I'll send someone in with it." She pressed a finger to her mouth. "I'm not supposed to be in here," she whispered. "Shhh!" She melted back into the dark, and they waited until the click of her heels had faded before either of them spoke.

"What a fuckin' fruitcake," Tig said, pitching his voice low. "You okay?"

She shrugged as well as she was able. "Fine. She's a cream puff. I could handle her on my worst day."

He wondered how much worse her days got. "Right" was all he said. He let his head fall back to rest against the pole and closed his eyes. "I'm gonna get us outta this, Ollie. Don't you worry."

"I believe you, Tiggy." The lie fell from her lips as easily as breathing. Tig meant well, and she didn't doubt his courage or his conviction, but she knew Teddy Flanary. Whatever he had planned for them, it wasn't going to be pretty, and it wasn't going to be sloppy. He was a man who rarely made mistakes.

The empty poles worried her. They lurked in the shadows just outside their pool of light and seemed to be waiting. For what, she could only imagine. She counted them and shuddered.

"You believe in God, Tig?" she said.

He lowered his chin to look at her. "Why?"

"Don't know. Just thought now might be a good time to pray. If that's what you're into."

He shifted a little in an attempt to ease some of the pressure on his hands. "Ever since I watch my Dawnie burn there's not much that scares me."

"Hhmm. I wish I could say the same. Shit scares the fuck outta me."

"No it doesn't."

She cut him a sharp look.

"You think you're afraid, but I saw you back in the shop. If me and Chucky hadn't been there you probably woulda taken on all those guys. You were fuckin' pissed, Ollie. That's bigger than fear."

"Is it? Seems like anger would've just gotten me killed faster."

"You gotta learn how to use it. You got a good start yesterday."

"Yesterday?" she said, confused.

"What you said at the table. The way you stood up for Juicy. And today, with those pictures. You got a lot of fury in you, Ollie. Make it count."

She settled back against the pole and tried to ignore her aching shoulders and numb fingers. "That's the plan, Tiggy," she said, softly. "That's the goal."

* * *

_So I read that Annabeth Gish was cast as Eli's replacement for s7, but I couldn't find the character's name. I didn't look that hard because, like I said, for the purposes of this story I don't really care about s7 at all. Regardless, I decided to go with an Annabeth Gish type for the new Sheriff...and I'd like to apologize for the guys' blatant misogyny. If Olivia had been there she would've set them straight. But, alas._

_I went ahead and had Juice tell the guys about Gemma because as far as he's concerned he's done with the club. I, haha, think he's lying to himself. Good luck, kid._

_Oh, so, ch51 is...um. Not. Yet. So. As per usual: blatant review whoring. I can has?_


	51. Rattle and Hum

Whew. Okay. It's all heating up now, and I can sense that we're in the home stretch. Any reviews you have just kinda lyin' around would really help me power through. :D

* * *

**in the locust wind comes a rattle and hum**  
**jacob wrestled the angel **  
**and the angel was overcome**  
**you plant a demon seed**  
**you raise a flower of fire**  
**see them burning crosses**  
**see the flames higher and higher**  
U2, "Bullet the Blue Sky"

It didn't take Chibs long to find Juice. He hadn't wasted time checking Juice's place or any bars he'd known him to haunt; he went straight to Ollie's. And sure enough, there was Juice's bike parked in the driveway. The front door was partially open, and Chibs pulled his gun (just to be safe) and pushed his way in.

"Juicy?" he called. "It's Chibs. Where are you, lad?"

He heard a series of thumps from the bedroom. Still wary, he checked behind each door on his way back, and once he got there he stopped in the doorway and his mouth fell open. The room was a shambles. Clothes from the closet were scattered over the bed. Drawers had been pulled from the bureau and the vanity. The contents of her lingerie chest littered the rug.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what happened here?"

Juice popped his head out of the closet. "Chibs," he said. "I didn't hear you come in."

He holstered his gun. "No wonder, lad. What the hell have you done?"

"She didn't tell me about the postcards or the pictures. I don't think she gave us everything she has on Doyle; she'd want an insurance policy. I've gotta find the real file. The one that has all of it."

Chibs' brow creased. "What pictures?"

Juice emerged the rest of the way and headed for the chest of drawers. It's where he kept his stuff, but he'd never checked the bottom of the drawers or the inside.

"Juicy!" Chibs said as he started pulling them out. "Stop now, lad. Do you really think Ollie stashed anything here? Especially after the invasion?"

He paused. "Her car," he said. "It's back at the shop. She probably—"

Chibs grabbed him as Juice tried to push past. "Just hang on a minute. What pictures are you talkin' about?"

He shook his head and jerked away. "In the file she gave us there were pictures of her. Pictures she took while she was still with TJ. Evidence—of what they did to her."

"They?" he said, his mouth forming a grim line.

"TJ and Doyle." He pressed his hands against his scalp. "Fuck, Chibs, fuck. He's gonna hurt her so bad. He's gonna hurt her and there's nothin' I can do." He staggered and might have fallen, but Chibs was there to catch him.

"All right, Juicy. All right. Breathe, laddie. We'll find her, her and Tiggy both. We just gotta be smart about it. Keep our heads."

Juice slumped against him and didn't bother to check the tears that coursed down his face. "I asked her to marry me," he said.

Chibs went still. A small smile twisted his mouth. "Oh, aye?" he said, carefully.

He gave a sloppy nod. "I didn't plan it. It just kinda came out. I thought she'd flip."

"Did she?"

"A little. But today—this afternoon—before I left to meet you guys in Stockton, she said yes."

"Ah, Juicy!" Chibs seized his face and planted a smacking kiss on his forehead. "It's good of her to make an honest man of you. Generous lass, our Ollie."

"Ha," he said, half a laugh. Then his expression crumbled. "I love her so much, Chibby."

Chibs pulled him into a tight embrace. "I know you do, laddie. I know you do." He held him out at arms' length and shook him. His head lolled. "Listen to me, Juicy. That woman loves you—God knows why, but she does—and she wants to spend her life with you. Are you goin' to let her down now?"

"Probably," Juice said.

"Don't be daft!" He shook again, harder. Some life finally sparked through his dull eyes, and he met Chibs' angry gaze with a puzzled frown.

"Why are you here?" he said.

"I came lookin' for you. Figured you didn't need to be alone just now."

"I thought you and Bobby'd be plannin' my execution by now."

Chibs' mouth went hard. He pulled the patches from his pocket and pressed them against Juice's chest. He looked down, surprised, and accepted them before they could drop.

"You're our brother, Juicy. Bobby's not happy with you, I won't lie, but he's willin' to give you another chance."

"Again?" Juice said with a cynical curl to his mouth.

"Aye, _again_. Luckily he doesn't know about the first time." He scraped a hand down his face and turned away. "I told her what I voted," he said at last.

"Huh. What'd she say?"

He hitched a shoulder. "I told her it was to repay a debt between us."

"Why would you say that? That's bullshit, Chibs."

"Mostly, aye. But I knew it would piss her off—which it most certainly did—and she needed that anger. Coming to the table like that, vouching for you…it seemed like the actions of a woman who had given up. I couldn't let her give up."

Juice cleared his throat. "You know what's been goin' on with her?"

He turned slowly. "About the abortion, you mean? Aye."

"She had that, and then the postcards, and then after what happened that day, with Clay and Bobby gettin' shot—it was a lot. Too much, I guess."

"Too much for you, too, sounds like."

He hung his head. "I didn't want to die, Chibby."

"Oh?"

"I just wanted a little quiet. Some peace. All that shit with Clay…it fucked me up. Everything with the club's fucked me up lately."

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "Olivia doesn't _fix_ me. She's not magic. It's not like that. But when I'm with her it's like…it's like I can see another way. I can see how life _could_ be. It's a life I want, Chibs. I want it so fuckin' bad."

"Then sew your fuckin' patches back on and let's go find your woman."

"That easy?"

"For now. One crisis at a time, Juicy m'lad."

His brow furrowed. He looked down at the patches and squeezed them in his fist. "You and Bobby gonna tell everyone else about Gemma?"

Chibs let out a long sigh. "I don't know." He frowned and wandered to the window. It wasn't quite dark yet, and tendrils of pink and lavender streaked the sky. The sunset's beauty was lost on him and as he wrestled with long thoughts.

"I never imagined this would be an issue we'd have to face."

"Well," Juice said, "she did hold a gun on a baby one time."

He huffed out a dry, unamused chuckle. "Special circumstances. She was tryin' to get Abel back."

"I think she'd say these were special circumstances. When she got there she thought Tara had ratted."

Chibs cast a frown over his shoulder. "When she got there? Did something happen to change her perception?"

"Tara and I both told her she didn't."

His brows drew together. "And she shot her anyway?"

"I think it was too late. She was completely out of it."

"Fuck me sideways," he muttered. "What the fuck do we tell Jackie? He doesn't have it bad enough, rottin' in jail while his wife's in the hospital? Now we gotta tell him his mam's the one who put her there?! Who's gonna look after those boys?"

"Ahh…we might not have to tell Jax."

"What d'you mean?" he said as he pivoted around.

He told Chibs about the pictures Olivia and Tig had found that afternoon. "She said it's likely Doyle has copies. Who knows what he's planning to do with them."

Chibs was silent for a long time. Finally, "There are men in this club who are very loyal to Gemma."

"You," Juice said.

"I'm loyal to Jackson. I'm loyal to the _club_. I know the choice Jax would make; that's my choice, too." He raised his head and pinned Juice with an incredulous glare. "_You_ are the one who covered for her."

"Because it's what Clay would've wanted. I owed Clay. I had to do somethin' to make it right."

"Clay's dead, lad," Chibs said, bluntly.

"No fucking shit. I covered for her once, and now it's done. Debt settled. For real—not like that bullshit you tried to feed Olivia about your vote. Right now I care about getting Olivia back safe, and I care about keeping the club together. In that order."

"Juicy—" Chibs broke off and frowned. "You need to do some deep soul-searching before you sew on those patches. I understand how you feel about Ollie, but you can't have your loyalty divided. You've gotta choose."

"Then I choose her," he said, without any sort of hesitation or doubt.

"I thought you would say that." He ran a hand through his hair with a glower. "Come back until we find her. After that patch out the right way. I do not want to have to hunt you down, brother. I do not want to have to kill you."

"_Brother_," he said with an ironic snort. "We still brothers, Chibs?"

"Aye," he said, shortly. "We are."

"And after I patch out?"

"Doesn't really work that way, Juicy."

"I know how it works," he said. "That's not what I'm asking."

He met Juice's dark, serious gaze with a thoughtful look. "Aye, lad," he said at last. "I could have left for my Fiona, but I know we're better apart than together. It's different for you and Ollie. That woman is the best thing to ever happen to you. If you gave her up for this club you'd be making a mistake so stupid I'm not sure I could, in good conscience, let you do it. So, aye. We'll still be brothers even when you're not a Son anymore."

"Good," he said. He looked relieved, and he even managed to eke out a smile. "I'm real glad to know it, Chibby."

His face fell as he looked around the room. "She's gonna fuckin' kill me."

Chibs clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck there, laddie. Might be we'll need to keep you after all."

"At least help me find the sewing kit?"

* * *

Chibs had left him alone to sew his patches, and for nearly half an hour after he left Juice just sat on the floor in the bedroom with his knees drawn up and his arms propped on them. He groped to his right and came up with a blouse: white, filmy, with pearl buttons down the front and at the cuffs. He held it to his nose and took a deep breath.

It was so Olivia it made him ache. Pretty, feminine, a little old-fashioned. Not fussy. Just—what did she say all the time? _Vintage_.

He sighed and put it aside. Flipped open the sewing kit and carefully threaded a needle.

There were clothes everywhere, he thought as he worked, and he'd only emptied out about half the closet in his search. She loved clothes, and since leaving TJ she'd kept her wardrobe necessarily small. And when she was with TJ, he, of course, controlled every stitch she wore. After she'd decided to stay in Charming she'd made it her mission to fill the big bedroom closet with as much as she could possibly stuff in it.

She'd told him years ago that on her days off she wanted to look as little like the shop as possible, and she'd meant it. She rarely wore jeans when she wasn't working. T-shirts, either, unless it was to sleep.

She was also unapologetically addicted to lingerie. The pieces scattered on the floor ranged from sweet to sexy to scandalous. She liked to wear lacy panties under her grease-spattered jeans. Silk teddies with her cute dresses. It was always a nice surprise to see what she had on under her clothes—and if that wasn't a perfect metaphor for the woman herself, Juice couldn't think of one.

She tried so fucking hard to make everyone think she was untouchable. Hard and cynical and aloof. That was part of her. Not _all_, but part. She gave herself away in a thousand small ways, though: she always knew when someone needed a kind word and was the first to offer it; she was endlessly patient with Chucky's eccentricities; baby elephants made her giddy.

He bit off the thread and started on the _Original_ patch.

He wished now he'd taken her to Disneyland. She'd asked to go one day, out of the blue, and said she'd loved Disney World when her parents took her as a kid. He'd promised her they'd go, but somehow with one thing and another they hadn't made it.

"Not too late," he muttered as he sewed. He reached for the _Man of Mayhem_ patch and paused. He'd always hated this one. But Clay had given it to him, and he'd sure as fuck earned it. He'd killed for the club more than once.

With a bitter sigh he stuck the needle in. He was actually pretty good at this. Olivia was right; it was soothing. Something about pushing the needle in, pulling it out, keeping his stitches neat and even; all of it helped to calm his disordered mind.

By the time he was done with the last patch he felt better. Chibs had been right about one thing: he couldn't find her alone, and it was stupid to pit himself against the club now. If they weren't going to punish him for protecting Gemma then he should use whatever help they offered. And Tig was missing, too. Things were more uncertain than they'd ever been; they needed to stick together.

He started to swing the cut over his shoulders when his eye snagged on something. That fucking Yes t-shirt. Goddamn. He grabbed it and ran his fingers over the fading image on the front. His mouth curved as he remembered that day in the hospital. He'd been so fucking in love with her. Stupid in love. Infatuated from the moment they met—switchblade, grungy car, amazing sex on a cheap motel table—and completely lost at the first peek of the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

He thought maybe it had happened the night of the bomb. The first bomb, the one that'd hurt Chibs so bad. Her ridiculous, ripped-apart house and that kiss she tried so hard to fight and then, finally, the next morning when he caught her with her hair down and she said she hated motorcycles.

_You really aren't old lady material_, he'd told her. The memory made him laugh now, though at the time he'd been ready to kick himself.

Anyway, while that might've been when he fell for her, he hadn't realized it until he saw her in this stupid t-shirt at the hospital. She'd had paint spattered on her arms and legs, like extra freckles, and she'd crawled up into bed next to him and they'd watched cruddy daytime TV and eaten cookies. She'd done it despite her fear and her desire to keep a distance between them. She'd done it because he'd needed it, and that was just the type of person she was. He'd told her different, once, but that had been because he thought maybe it'd freak her out to know he'd loved her that long. She was a woman who thought she had to earn someone's affection, which in his mind was ridiculous. You either loved someone or you didn't; earning it was beside the point.

He poked around the sewing kit until he found a pair of scissors. He carefully cut out the band name—_yes_, in curvy, psychedelic letters—and threaded another needle. He sewed it to the inside of his cut, into the lining. She'd probably be pissed that he'd cut up her shirt (or maybe not; she didn't actually like the band and it had only been fifty cents), but he wanted it as a good luck charm. A sort of talisman.

She'd been wearing it the day he realized his life was a much shittier thing without her in it. She'd also been wearing it yesterday, when he cut her hair. Somehow she'd forgiven him for that, and for covering up what Gemma had done to Tara, and apparently at some point between the hospital and the haircut she'd realized _her_ life was shittier without _him_ in it.

And so, today, she'd said it.

Yes.

It was cheesy. Sappy and sentimental and exactly the sort of thing that would make her roll her eyes while she tried not to grin. He smoothed the cotton and tied off the thread. Pushed himself up from the floor and pulled his cut on over his gray t-shirt.

"Time to quit mopin', Ortiz," he told his reflection in the vanity mirror. He had to get to TM—the club's _new_ temporary clubhouse—and figure out how the fuck he was gonna get his girl back.

* * *

When Juice got to the garage the place was in an uproar. Chibs immediately hustled out and hauled him off his bike.

"Nothin' about Gem, yeah? We'll tell 'em when things've calmed down some. For now we got news."

"About Olivia and Tig?"

"Aye. Come on, lad. Try to keep your head."

He frowned. What kind of news? He didn't ask. He'd find out soon enough.

Everyone was already there when Juice and Chibs got inside. Bobby was talking to Happy, but when he saw Juice he paused. Juice braced himself as Bobby lumbered over. He scanned him from top to bottom, his bearded face guarded and closed. Juice stripped off his hoodie and Bobby took careful note of the re-applied patches on his cut. After a moment he smiled and pulled Juice into an embrace.

"Good to have you back, brother," Bobby muttered against his ear. "Stay steady. We're gonna get through this."

"Thanks, Bobby," Juice said. "Sorry about earlier."

Bobby clapped him on the back almost hard enough to stagger him before he pulled away.

"All right," Bobby said. He knocked the gavel against one of the tool chests. It made an odd, metallic _clang_, and the room went silent. "Hap and Quinn got some news for us from Chucky."

"How's he doin'?" Rat said. Chucky was weird, but they all liked him. He was kind of like a club mascot or something.

"Like I told Chibs, he's a little out of it. Honest, I don't think Doyle was tryin' to kill him," Happy said. "The cut wasn't that deep. Just looked real bad."

"He cut his wrist?" Bobby said with a confused scowl.

"Which side?" Chibs said.

"Left," said Quinn.

Juice let out a weary sigh. "Like Olivia's. Her escape plan."

"She tried to kill herself, right?" Rat said.

Juice shook his head and gestured at Chibs. He didn't have the energy to tell the story.

"All right, lads, I guess we need a little history lesson. Some of you are new, some of you weren't full patch, some of you just don't know our Ollie that well. She's a secretive one."

He paused and gathered all their eyes to him. "Mick Doyle is the man we're after. His real name is Teddy Flanary, and Ollie was married to his son."

He gave them a brief run-down of the kind of men TJ and Teddy were, and what Olivia had done to escape them. He also outlined TJ's fate (including details that made the new guys wince), and some of the more notorious crimes that had been pinned on Doyle and his crew.

"Our goal is to get Tiggy and Olivia back alive and as unharmed as possible," Bobby said. "That ain't gonna be easy, not from this guy. Not with a vendetta like he has."

They all looked disconcerted by Chibs' explanation—except Juice, who had virtually no affect at all. He knew more than any of them did, and there wasn't much of anything Chibs could've said to shock or disturb him.

"Okay, back to Chuck," Chibs said and turned the floor over to Happy.

"That lady Sheriff showed up with some kinda picture. Said it was left at the scene. Chucky told her he didn't know what it was, but after she left he told us he recognized the place."

That got Juice's attention. He pushed himself off the edge of the counter and took a step forward. "Where?"

Chibs held up a hand to quiet him.

"It's an old warehouse down near Stockton. The Chinese used to use it for storage and shit, but Chuck said they got rid of it right before he went down," Happy said.

"And he recognized it out of hundreds of other warehouses down near Stockton?"

Happy shrugged. The look on his face spoke volumes about Chucky. "He said somethin' about a tree. I don't fuckin' know."

"He was pretty adamant," Quinn said. "He gave us an address, but we didn't wanna go check it out without bringin' it back here."

"Smart, fellas," Chibs said.

"This's probably a trap," Bobby rumbled. "Why the fuck would he just let us waltz up to his fuckin' warehouse and grab 'em?"

"Definitely a trap," Happy said. "Don't sound like there's much stupid about this guy."

"We got any choice?" Juice said. "He obviously left the picture for a reason. If he wants us there, we gotta be there. Maybe he's gonna give us Tig." He hitched a shoulder. "No reason he wants Tig anyway, except to bargain with."

"That a bargain you're willin' to make?" Bobby said.

"Depends on what he's asking." Juice paused. "He won't offer to trade Olivia for Tig. I doubt he'd trade Olivia for Fort Knox and a dragon."

"A…dragon?" Rat said with a disbelieving blink.

"I was tryin' to think of somethin' real rare," Juice explained.

"Okay," Chibs said to forestall any further chatter, "I think we're all agreed it's a trap, but I also think we agree with Juicy that we've got no choice but to check it out." He cast a quick eye around the room and was greeted with nods from everyone.

"Aye," he said grimly. "Well then. I suggest we come up with a plan that would allow at least a few of us to survive even the most devious trap his weasely Irish mind could think up."

* * *

It had been a good plan. A real good plan.

Problem was, they'd planned for shit like bombs or armed guards or even fuckin' snipers. They had not planned for a ridiculously sexy blonde tied (naked) to a pole. None of them were stupid, and they were all full grown adults, but it was difficult for even the steadiest man to keep his head around a gorgeous naked woman begging for help.

Happy, Juice, and Chibs were the first ones in. Quinn and Mendez should be through the back any second, but the warehouse was way too big to communicate. Bobby, Rat, and West were posted along the perimeter to take care of any potential snipers or backup.

They'd been reminded, as they'd made the plan, how painfully thin their ranks were.

Chibs stopped them with a gesture, and they huddled behind a large pile of crates to talk it over.

"We gotta ignore her," Happy said. "She's fuckin' bait."

"What if she's not?" Juice said. "Olivia said one of the reasons she killed TJ is because he was linin' somebody up to take her place. What if that girl is Doyle's new Olivia? We can't just leave her."

"Christ on the cross," Chibs muttered. "All right. Hap, head toward the others at the back. Let 'em know what's happening. Juicy, you're with me."

Happy broke right while Chibs and Juice broke left. Chibs left Juice to guard his back as he approached the woman. He pressed a finger to his lips to keep her quiet, and she gave an eager nod. Eyes wary and watchful, he knelt behind her and set his gun near his foot. He pulled his knife and started on the wire ties that held her wrists.

He hesitated a moment, eyes narrowing, at the tattoo on her shoulder. He knew that symbol. Anyone who knew anything about Mick Doyle knew that symbol.

"I've been his prisoner for so long!" the woman breathed. "You're my hero!"

She sounded like she was reading from some kind of cheesy action movie script. Chibs cut the last tie and grabbed his gun. She spun around and smirked at his look of surprise.

"Well, lass, I don't suppose I want to know where you were hiding that," he said with a nod toward the gun she held. It was a compact .22, a lady's gun, but he knew full well it could do the job if she were a good enough shot. He had a feeling Doyle wouldn't risk her if she weren't.

"Don't worry, baby," she purred. "I'm not gonna shoot you."

He grinned. "That makes one of us, honey." He pulled the trigger. She stared down at her chest in shock. He shot her again and she spun away and fell. Her mouth opened and closed like a landed fish and her fingers scrambled against the cold concrete floor.

He strode to her side and pressed the gun against her temple. Leaned down so that his mouth was just by her ear. "Tell me where they are, sweetheart, and I'll make it quick."

"He's—" She broke off to choke as blood bubbled up. "He's gonna fucking kill you for this."

Chibs' smile turned feral. "He can try, darlin'. He can sure as fuck try."

"Step back!" a voice commanded from behind them.

Chibs spun, weapon raised, but he stopped short. Juice and Happy were escorted by four or five heavily armed commando types. One had an AK aimed at Chibs. Old fashioned, Chibs mused, but effective.

"Girl's dead already," Chibs said. "I'm sure your boss will be thrilled at the bang up job you did protecting her."

"She's cannon fodder," one of them said with a snort. "Boss's got ten more just like her beggin' to take her place."

Behind Chibs the woman let out a soft cry. The guard who'd spoken shot her in the forehead without hesitating, cold and clinical like a fuckin' machine. Chibs stared, astounded. It seemed, despite all their preparation and all of Olivia's warnings, they'd somehow managed to underestimate Teddy Flanary after all.

It was stupid and amateurish, and not a mistake they'd make again.

* * *

_Poor Cindy. :(_

_Things are gonna get kinda hairy next chapter, loves. Let's hope it all works out for Our Heroes._


	52. Old Familiar Fear

Let's address something quickly before we get started: Olivia's abduction was inevitable. I've been building toward it practically since ch1. Having said that, the manpain isn't the impetus of this plot point, it's just the RESULT. One of the results. At this point the fact that she has people in her life who love her and are worried about her shows her growth. I mean, if she'd been kidnapped 3ish years ago, her old boss mighta been like, "Where's Olivia? Oh well. Guess she moved on."

The difference between this and Rita Roosevelt and Tara's deaths is that those (esp Rita's) ONLY existed for the EXPRESS PURPOSE of manpain. It wasn't just a natural side effect: it was the one and only reason those plot points happened. Olivia has to exorcise her old demons, but it's not like Doyle is a pushover. It's not an easy process.

Having said all that, I'll urge you going forward to remember that ever since she walked into an Atlanta ER and took a steak knife to her wrist, Olivia is and ever will be the mistress of her own agency. (even when it might not seem like it, like when idiot bikers cut her fucking hair with a fucking bowie knife—she chose to forgive him, after all, and she sure as hell didn't have to)

Sorry for the really long note here at the beginning, but this's important. :D

* * *

**on winter trees the fruit of rain **  
**is hanging trembling in the branches **  
**like a thousand diamond buds **  
**and waiting there in every pause **  
**that old familiar fear that claws you **  
**tells you nothing ain't no good **  
**then pulling back you see it all **  
**down here so laughable and small **  
**hardly a quiver in the dirt **

**this ain't no love that's guiding me**  
David Gray, "Ain't No Love"

"Ollie," Tig hissed, "wake up. Someone's comin'."

She wasn't sure how she'd managed to doze off anyway, and she hadn't even realized she had until Tig's warning woke her. She sat up straighter and flexed her numb fingers.

"Brought you some buddies," one of the guards said. It was Bonneville guy. He shoved Chibs ahead of him, and Happy walked beside them, trailed by a guard of his own.

"This is your rescue plan?" Tig said.

"Good to see you too, Tiggy," Chibs said as Bonneville guy trussed him to one of the empty poles.

"Dickheads jumped us. Used some girl as bait," Happy said.

"Girl?" said Olivia. "What girl?"

"Blond, shapely," Chibs said.

"You need to shut the fuck up," Bonneville said.

"Sounds like Cindy," Tig remarked.

"Sounds like _dead bitch_ to me," Happy's guard said with an obscene laugh.

Olivia opened her mouth to say something, but at the last minute she closed it again. She wanted to know where Juice was. Had he been with them, or had he gotten away? Who had killed Cindy? Teddy's guys didn't seem too broken up about it.

Bonneville left Chibs and walked to Olivia's pole. She craned her neck to look at him. He reached down and hauled her up by her arm.

"Fuck, ow, easy!" she said.

He smirked and cut the wire ties holding her wrists. Her head fell back in relief, but that only lasted a second. The blood rushing to her hands was exquisitely painful, and she couldn't hide it.

"Shake it out," the other guard said. "You'll live."

"Fuck you," she snarled.

"Hold your hands in front of you," Bonneville said. He held up another set of cuffs.

"Could you—look, just wait a sec, okay? At least let me get the circulation back. I'm not sure Teddy'll love it if my hands fall off."

He and the other guard shared a look. The second one shrugged and turned away to face the guys.

"Nice car you've got," Olivia said to Bonneville. "It yours, or the company's?"

He hitched a shoulder. "Teddy wanted somethin' you'd notice."

"Hum."

"Come on, Stephens," the other one said. "Tie her up and let's go. Teddy won't be happy we kept him waiting."

So. Bonneville guy had a name. Stephens. She lifted a brow at him as he secured the ties around her wrists. He didn't cinch them as tight as they'd been before, and there was something about his face that intrigued her. She'd pegged him as a pro before. Now she wondered a professional _what_, exactly?

"Where the fuck you takin' her?" Chibs said as they went past.

Stephens kicked him. "Shut the fuck up, Scotty. None of your goddamn business. You better be glad you're still alive to care."

She didn't look at them. She couldn't bear to see Chibs' face right now, or Tig's. She knew Happy's would be blank and steady; she'd never met anyone who could put on a mask as well as that man—though the scary part was she wasn't sure how much of it was a mask at all. She swallowed hard and tried to take note of her surroundings.

Just a warehouse. Empty and generic. There was nothing she could see that would possibly help them. There wasn't even any cover.

They turned down a hall and stopped outside an office door. Stephens knocked and Teddy called for them to come in. The two men pushed her into the room, and she stumbled as she stopped short.

Juice sat at a metal table slumped in a heavy chair. His wrists were shackled to the arms, his feet to the legs. It was obvious someone had been at work on him; blood trickled from a cut on his brow and his lip was swollen and split. When he saw her he sat up straighter, but a tiny widening of her eyes made him sit back and put on an air of nonchalance.

Stephens let her go and Teddy caught her before she fell. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said to the guards. "Wait outside until I need you, please." He gestured for Stephens to cut her bonds again, and he did so without a word. The door closed behind them and she heard the click of a lock.

"Well. It would seem it's just the three of us," he said with false bonhomie. "Let's get to know each other, shall we?"

She rolled her aching shoulders. "I think I know all I need to about you, Teddy."

"Ha! Very true, my little strawberry. But what about our friend here? Mr. Ortiz? Surely we could all learn more about him."

Her eyes flicked to Juice and back to Teddy. "Why would I care? He's just some guy I'm fucking. Not like he's the first."

"Indeed." Teddy straightened his cuffs and circled behind Juice. Rested his hands on his shoulders and leaned down. "And who else is she fucking, Mr. Ortiz? Besides you, I mean."

He bared his teeth in a bloody grin. "Everybody, buddy. We pass her around."

He clicked his tongue and reached down. He gripped one of Juice's fingers and bent it back. Juice let out a hiss of breath and Teddy pressed harder. "Again, Mr. Ortiz. Who else?"

His laugh was rusty and thick. "I've had her the last couple months, but before that it was the Scottish guy with the scars. Then the guy with the curly hair. Before that, the one with the snake tattoo on his head. I told you: everybody."

Teddy glanced up at Olivia, his blue eyes dark with fury. She shrugged despite the pain in her shoulders. "It's true. What can I say? I have a real thing for biker cock."

He growled and broke Juice's finger. Juice let out a short scream before he subsided into hard, pained panting. She kept her face still, her expression blank, even as the rage Tig had talked about boiled up inside her. She was unbound but weaponless. No doubt Teddy was strapped, and besides that there were two heavily armed guards just outside the door.

She would have to be careful. Subtle. Push Teddy too hard and he would kill Juice out of pure spite.

Teddy patted Juice's shoulder and smiled. "There, there, my boy. At least I didn't use the knife."

He managed a grimace. "Must be my lucky day," he said.

Teddy left him and stalked toward Olivia. She lifted her chin and her lips curved. He ran a finger down her jaw. "My darling Audra. It has been far too long." He cast a look over his shoulder. "Well, since you have no special attachment to her I suppose you won't mind if I have a taste."

She had been expecting it, but still she flinched. Juice blinked and turned his head away. Teddy took that as a yes and spun back toward her with a delighted grin that turned savage as he lifted her by the hips and threw her onto the table.

Her head hit the metal hard enough to make her teeth ring, and she couldn't smother her cry of surprise and pain. Teddy grabbed her by the throat, and just before his fingers closed around her Juice caught a flash of her face: terrified, furious, deadly. The expression was gone so fast he could almost believe he imagined it, except he knew her well enough to know he hadn't. She had a plan. Maybe not a good one, but a plan.

Teddy wore a huge ring on his right hand, maybe a college ring, heavy and gold with a large onyx stone. He paused a moment to twist it off and set it on the table beside her before he pulled his arm back and backhanded her. Her hair hid her face. She shook it back and smiled at him around a bleeding lip. She ran her tongue over it and spat red.

"Shoulda kept the ring on, Teddy," she said. "A broken cheekbone might've gotten my attention."

"Stupid slut," he rasped. He flipped her onto her stomach and fumbled for his buckle.

She raised herself on her hands and met Juice's eyes for a moment. _I've got this_, her look said. _Trust me_.

He jerked his head in a quick nod before he looked away again.

"_Slut_, Teddy?" she said. "Is that really the best you've got? Come on. Yeah, I've fucked an entire motorcycle club, but really."

He had his fly open and she could sense movement behind her. She peeked over her shoulder and burst out laughing. "What's the matter, baby?" she cooed. "Forget your blue pill this morning?"

"Shut up, you little whore. I'm gonna show you who you belong to!"

"With whose cock?" she said, still laughing. "Come on, Teddy. You really think it's worth it? God only knows who I've fucked since I shot your baby boy's little prick off. I could have anything!"

"It's true," Juice said. "And we had that nasty Hep B scare a while back. You ever get tested for that?" he asked her.

"I think it slipped my mind," she said with a giggle.

He wrenched her up by the back of the neck and tossed her against the wall. She pushed off it, and after a stunned moment started to laugh again. Above all she had to keep laughing. She could never let him know how much it hurt, or how afraid she was. That's what he wanted.

Teddy drew in a long, hard breath and smoothed a hand over his hair. He carefully tucked himself away and fastened his pants.

"Very well," he said. "I certainly don't want to risk my person on the disease-ridden whore you've become." He smiled, cold and dangerous and terrifying. "I think I'll see if my men wish to have some fun instead. Maybe all your fuck buddies can watch."

"Sounds like my kind of party," she said.

It was, to her, a sign of how desperate he was that he'd resorted to rape threats so early. Normally he would've drawn it out a little. Her act seemed to have worked better than she could've hoped.

Now if she could just get through step two they might all have a chance to get out of this alive and (relatively) intact.

Teddy banged on the door. "Take them back to the warehouse. Secure him, and then use her as you wish. Make sure the others are watching."

Stephens' eyes darted to her for an instant before they landed on Teddy again. "Sure, boss. Where'll you be?"

"I have business elsewhere." He paused. "Take your time, gentlemen. Be _extremely_ thorough." He offered Olivia another chilling little smile before he strode past the guards and disappeared down the hall.

The other guard cut Juice's bonds and pressed a gun to his back. "Come on, mohawk. We got places to be."

Stephens secured Olivia's wrists in front of her and gave her a little shove. "You too, princess. You heard the man."

"Should we go get the other guys?" his buddy said. "Seems a shame we should have all the fun."

Stephens grinned, wide and lascivious. "Sure, O'Rourke. But don't you want first crack at her before we give those assholes a shot?"

Olivia watched Juice's shoulders tense. O'Rourke might've made just the mistake they needed by not binding his wrists—except apparently the guard noticed the same thing, because he pressed his gun in hard enough to make Juice wince.

"Steady, boy-o," he said. "Don't fuck up and make me blow your head off. Don't worry; we're gonna take real good care of her. Aren't we, Stephens?"

"Oh yeah."

They were back in the warehouse by this time. While O'Rourke secured Juice to a pole Stephens used his knife to cut Olivia's wrists free. He glanced up at her, and again she saw something…maybe she was imagining it.

Except then he flipped the blade closed and tucked the knife into her palm. She wrapped her fingers around it and he gave a tiny nod. His eyes were dark blue and steady, calm and reassuring. She felt certain he wouldn't make a move against the other guard—whatever his cover was he had to maintain it—but now he'd given her the means to.

She set her shoulders and spun to face O'Rourke as he came up behind her. "So," she said, "who's first?"

"What the fuck is this?" Tig demanded.

"A free show, boys," Stephens said. "Nothin' you haven't seen before, assuming they're tellin' the truth."

"What truth?" Chibs said.

Juice sighed. "I told 'em, Chibby. They know how we pass her around."

Happy almost choked, but at the last minute he turned it into a cough. "Holy shit, Juicy," he said in a strained voice.

She smiled at O'Rourke. Her hands were loose by her sides, the knife concealed in her curled fingers. "I think you," she said. She crooked a finger at him and he stepped closer.

"We been watchin' you a while," he said. "You and mohawk there get pretty kinky."

She laughed. "Really?" She looked back at Stephens. "You two must have pretty vanilla sex lives, sugar." Her mouth formed a moue of regret. "That's sad."

She could see the guys over O'Rourke's shoulder, but she was careful not to look directly at any of them. She felt a hot, deep flush of shame that they had to watch this, but she shook it off. She was armed. She was ready. And she was nobody's fucking _victim_.

She leaned closer and brushed her lips against his neck. "Pull your pants down, baby," she murmured in his ear. "Let's see what you've got."

He reached eagerly for his zipper, and a moment later his trousers hit the floor.

She looked down and grinned. "Impressive."

Juice made a low noise and twisted his head away. He knew this was part of her plan—whatever the fuck her plan was—but he wanted to rip their fucking heads off. Chibs cut him a look, and his eyes told Juice to stay calm. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth creaked. His head pounded where Teddy's guy had hit him. There was a cut on the inside of his lip. He rolled his tongue against it, and the sharp pain helped steady him out. His finger he tried to ignore the best he could; that was sickening, not steadying.

Meanwhile Olivia had dropped to her knees in front of O'Rourke. The gun hung slack in one hand as he seized her hair with the other. She winced. "Whoa, sugar, no need to get grabby. You're gonna get what you want."

He eased his grip a little. She ran her knuckles up the inside of his leg, barely brushing his skin, and his head fell back in anticipation. But instead of the warm, soft heat of her mouth, he felt something cold and metal press against his scrotum.

"Drop the gun," she whispered, "or the future of any little O'Rourkes will be in serious jeopardy."

He stared down at her, wide-eyed.

"Whoa, O'Rourke, she hasn't even started yet!" Stephens said with a laugh.

She lifted a brow at him and he offered Stephens a shaky smile. "She's real fuckin' good," he said.

"Smart," she murmured. She slid her free hand up his ankle until she found what she was looking for. "Also smart," she said as she freed the gun from its holster.

She kept the knife pressed against his balls and pivoted on her heels to point the gun at Stephens. "Both of you drop your fucking weapons. I am _not_ bluffing."

Stephens was a good actor, she had to give him that. He took a step closer and she squeezed the trigger. The shot went well wide, as she'd meant it to, but he froze. Gingerly he set his weapon on the ground and lifted his hands. She tilted her head back to look at O'Rourke.

"You got the most to lose, baby. I suggest you listen."

He was pale-faced and shaking, but somehow he managed to put the gun down and kick it toward the guys. Tig caught it with his foot.

Olivia bit her lip. She had a problem. She knew Stephens wouldn't attack her, not really, but she didn't want to blow his cover any more than he wanted it blown. She was stuck on the floor with a knife pressed against a man's dangly bits. If she let up, he'd come after her. If she took the gun off Stephens, he'd have no choice but to try to disarm her or be exposed.

She sighed. "Sorry, O'Rourke." She spun the knife in her hand and thrust it hard into the meatiest part of his thigh. He let out a strangled cry and crumpled. She yanked his handgun out of the belt holster and scrambled to her feet.

"Don't pull that out unless you want to bleed to death," she told him. She jerked her head at Stephens. "Apply a tourniquet and tie him to one of these poles."

He nodded and hurried forward. He jerked the knife from O'Rourke's thigh, and both of them yelped in protest. "What the fuck did I just say?!" she said.

Stephens dragged O'Rourke's head back by the hair and sliced his throat in one smooth motion. O'Rourke let out a gurgle and slumped forward.

Olivia faltered. The guns almost slipped out of her suddenly numb fingers. "What the fuck?" she croaked. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm a Fed," he said. "And you, I'm guessing, are Lincoln Potter's confidential informant."

"A Fed?" Chibs cried. "You cut his fuckin' throat! What kind of Fed does shit like that?"

"One who's gotta keep his cover." He wiped the bloody blade on O'Rourke's shirt and used it to cut the guys free.

He closed it and handed it to Chibs. "You gotta knock me out and tie me up. Make it look good."

"Won't they wonder why I didn't just slit your fuckin' throat, too?" Olivia said, still furious. Yeah, O'Rourke had been about to rape her, but…

But what? O'Rourke had been about to rape her. End of story.

"Like I said," Stephens said, wearily, "make it look good."

"You want the honors?" Chibs asked Juice.

He held up his right hand. It was swollen and purple, and the finger was canted at a grotesque angle. "Not really in the mood," he said.

"I got this," said Tig with a feral sort of glee.

"Wait!" Olivia said. She grabbed Tig's arm as he pulled it back to punch. "We need information. How many men are here? Where? What sort of 'business' did Teddy have?"

"Four," he said with an impatient sigh. "Two at the front, two at the back."

"That's it?" Happy said, doubtfully. He had stripped Stephens' belt holster and was checking the clip. Chibs was doing the same on the two bigger automatics that she'd had them throw away.

"He's kinda cocky, in case you didn't realize it," Stephens said. He stared hard at Olivia. "He's been after you a long time, kiddo."

Her lip curled in disgust. "No shit. Why do you think I need to know where to find him?"

"I can't let you go kill him, Audra."

"It's _Olivia_," Juice said through gritted teeth. "Her goddamn name is _Olivia_."

"Olivia," Stephens said. "Sorry. The point stands: we're in the middle of an on-going investigation. We've almost got enough to put this shit stain away for life. You kill him now, it'll all be for nothing."

She surged forward and shoved the gun under his chin. "Tell me something, Agent Stephens. Your boys have Teddy bugged, yeah?"

"Uh huh," he said, nervously. "Not, uh. Not in here, though. Too big. His car, the interrogation room where he had you and your boyfriend. A few other places."

"Right. Of course they fucking do."

She chuckled, dry and hard and humorless. "That means they knew he was planning this. They knew he tried to rape me in that room. They knew you were about to stand by and watch while his guards gang raped me, and they knew he was planning to kill these men and, eventually, kill me." She took a step back and spread her arms. "So where are they, Dudley Do-Right?"

"I told you," he said. He was sweating, and when he spoke again he stumbled over his words. "This is an on-going investigation. Thousands of man hours have been spent—we couldn't just throw all that away—some losses are expected—"

"Oh, Agent Stephens," she said, her voice soft and sweet, "that was the wrong answer."

"Whoa, whoa," Chibs said and closed his fingers around her wrist. "You can't kill a Fed, Ollie."

"Why not?" she demanded, her eyes flaring. "His fellow agents were gonna sit by and listen while his buddies in black raped me. They were gonna throw back some popcorn while y'all were executed. They were gonna crack a few beers while Teddy tortured me and then put a fucking bullet in my head."

Chibs made a low noise and eased his grip on her arm.

"She makes a real good case," Happy said.

"I'm kinda convinced," said Tig.

"Hey!" he said. "I gave you that knife! What would you've done without it? You'd be choking on O'Rourke's dick by now."

"First of all," she said, "I have never in my life choked on a dick, and I wasn't about to start now. Secondly, what the fuck do you think _teeth_ are for?"

All the men quailed at that, and Stephens raised his hands in desperation. "Audra—Olivia, I mean—I know you don't want to kill me. You killed TJ because of what he did to you, but you're no murderer. I'm a Federal Agent, for fuck's sake."

"Move," said Juice in a voice like iron.

They all stepped aside. Stephens begged and blubbered, but Juice didn't even blink. He had to use his left hand, and the first shot caught Stephens in the shoulder. The next one hit his throat, and his life gushed out in a red river.

Juice and Olivia locked eyes. His were hot and dry, hers cold and bright. He nodded once, and she tilted her head in acknowledgement.

"We need to move," Happy said. "We're gonna have company any second. This place is big, but that just means sound echoes like a son of a bitch."

Chibs went to put a hand on the small of Olivia's back, but she flinched away. "Please don't," she murmured. "Not right now."

He said nothing, but his face told the story of his fury. He let her be and joined Tig and Happy in their huddle. The three of them led the way, and after a moment Juice fell back to walk next to her. They were quiet, but she let the back of her hand brush his. He ran his thumb over her knuckles.

"Were you really gonna cut his balls off?" he muttered under his breath, too low for the others to hear.

"I was hoping to avoid it," she whispered back.

"Were you really gonna _bite_ his balls off?"

"Let's just say I'm glad Stephens slipped me that knife," she said after a moment's hesitation.

"If Stephens hadn't done it I would've killed him."

"I know."

He paused to look at her. Her mouth curved up at the corners, but her eyes were vulnerable. "You still gonna marry me, Ortiz?"

"Yep. You?"

"I guess it takes more than a little murder to scare me off these days."

"Good," he said, his expression serious. "Then let's go find Teddy and make it a little more."

* * *

_okay. *deep breath* I struggled a LOT writing this, and I knew how it was going to end._

_To kind of extend what I said at the beginning, if you guys ever want to discuss/question a specific plot point or decision with me, feel free to send me a PM. Or, if you want to be anon, you can send me an anon ask on my tumblr, halinacrown. I've made storytelling decisions with this one I never really thought I'd make? And I'm happy to talk them out or explain them at any time._

_The good thing about fanfic is that it's an interactive experience. Unlike when you pick up a book in the bookstore and maybe one day you decide to email the author and you have no idea if they'll ever even see it, I'm right here. *waves* And you guys reading this are a big part of why I've gotten through 51 chapters of something I basically expected to be MAYBE 20k words of unrequited longing followed by dirty smut._


	53. Drowning

Much longer chapter today, loves, but I think J & O had some shit to work out.

* * *

**i'm drowning in shallows**  
**cos it's in so deep**  
**there's neon melting in the rain**  
**took too much powder to sleep**  
**cos when i hold you naked**  
**when i hear you laugh**  
**i get a sword to stem the rivers**  
**and cut the moon in half**  
David Gray, "Coming Down"

The guys dealt with the guards easily. Nothing like the element of surprise to get a leg up on arrogant, over-paid assholes. After it was done they gathered behind the warehouse where three of the four bikes were parked.

"This's weird," Happy said with a scowl.

"Not really," Olivia said. They looked at her and she shrugged. "Viking funeral on a motorcycle. Has a certain style to it, don't you think?"

"Jesus Christ," Tig said, disgusted. "I've about had it with Teddy motherfuckin' Flanary."

She grimaced. "Join the club, babe. We've got a newsletter and everything."

"So what now?" Juice said. "Stephens didn't tell us where Doyle is."

Chibs lifted a brow at Olivia. She glanced around, startled. "What?"

"You know him best, lass. What's our next move?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered a little. It was a cool night, and she was only wearing a thin tank over a cotton camisole. Juice shrugged out of his hoodie but stopped just short of draping it over her shoulders. She took it from him and slid her arms into the sleeves. Sometimes he knew her so well it almost hurt.

Before she answered Chibs' question she had one of her own. "What happened to Cindy?" she said.

They looked momentarily taken aback. Then Chibs set his jaw and, smoothly, "That bastard O'Rourke killed her. Shot her because she told us where to find you."

She absorbed that with a small quirk of her mouth. She wasn't stupid. She knew Cindy wouldn't've given up their location, and she knew Chibs wouldn't've fallen for such obvious bait. "Fair enough," she said, softly. "Kinda wish now I'd cut his balls off after all."

Chibs got the message loud and clear, but if she wasn't going to press the issue, he wasn't either.

"You need to get everyone together on lockdown," she said, abruptly brisk and businesslike. "Not at TM. Not at the shop. It's gotta be someplace new, someplace he might not think of. You're gonna want a guard—preferably two—on Tara at all times." She chewed her lip and flinched when her teeth hit the split. "Someone has to get in touch with Jax. He'll need protection inside. Also it'd probably be a good idea to call in some backup. We killed six of his men tonight. That's like a declaration of war."

"All right," Chibs said. "Anything else?"

His tone was so even and unruffled. He took every suggestion she made in stride, and the guys stood in a loose semicircle around them both, listening attentively. It was nerve wracking, especially considering everything that had just happened.

"Um…" Her eyes slid away. She let the hoodie's sleeves fall down to cover her hands so they wouldn't see how they trembled. "I would—appreciate it if we didn't tell anyone what happened here tonight." She lifted her chin and met their gazes, each in turn. "It could have gotten very ugly—uglier than it did, I mean—and I would prefer it if it stayed amongst the five of us."

"I got no problem with that," Tig said. "But, Ollie—you did real good in there. Real fuckin' good."

"You did, lass," Chibs said.

"Thank you," she said with a brief dip of her head. "Still, in the last twenty-four hours I've had inappropriate, alarming contact with way too many random men, so if we could all just—" She took a step back, spread her arms, and shrugged a little.

"So, what, we don't get to tell the rest of the club that we apparently share you now?" Happy said, struggling not to grin.

Juice glared at him, but Olivia just snorted. "Hap, listen. I came this close to cutting a man's balls off tonight. I'm still sort of feeling the urge, so maybe shut the fuck up."

"She has a colorful history of mutating genitalia," Tig said.

"Fair enough," he said. "Just make sure to tell me when it's my turn."

"Fuck you, Lowman," she said, but there was no heat in her tone. "Go away."

He laughed and sauntered off toward the bikes.

Chibs jerked his chin at the building. "Saw a van 'round back. You and Tig can take that." He frowned at Juice. "Can you ride, lad?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm fine."

"Fine? Let me look at it," Olivia said. She took his hand in hers, gently, and he flinched. She paused and cut her eyes up at him. "This is going to hurt. Do you want to sit down?"

"Uh…"

"We've got nothin' to bind it with," Chibs said. "Maybe you should wait."

"Only gonna get more swollen if we do that." She wiggled out of the hoodie, stripped off her tank top, and ripped it down the seam. She tore off three long strips of fabric that she handed to Chibs before she passed the rest of the shredded mess to Tig. She gestured for Juice's hand again, and he gave it to her reluctantly.

She caught his eyes with hers and smiled a little. "Don't worry, baby," she said. "When we find him, you can break his leg." She jerked hard on his finger and he let out a groan.

"Fuck me, Ollie," Tig said. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"You told me to use my rage, Tiggy. Looks like you were right." She bound Juice's broken finger to the good one next to it using the strips from her shirt.

"How's that?" she said, her voice as gentle as her touch had been.

Chibs and Tig suddenly felt like they were intruding and looked away.

"Good," he said. He looked pale and a little green around the gills. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. "Kinda crazy how much something so small hurts."

"Yeah," she said and wiggled her own fingers at the memory. She brushed her thumb across the cut on his brow. Her face creased. She was sick and tired of having to patch up the man she loved. "Are you sure you can ride?"

"I can get your bike, Juicy," Tig said, clearing his throat. "If you didn't mind."

He was still looking at Olivia, and whatever he saw in her face made him nod. "Sure, Tiggy. That'd be great. Not sure how I'd grip if I can't bend my fingers."

Tig recognized it for the excuse it was, but he just clapped Juice on the back. "No problem, brother. I'll take good care of it."

"Fuckin' well better," Olivia said with a quick smile. "I just rebuilt the damn thing."

"We'll wait until you get the van goin'," Chibs said. "Meet us at TM. We'll decide our next move from there."

Happy rejoined them as Juice and Olivia walked away. "You know," he said once they were out of earshot, "I never completely believed the story about what she did to her husband."

"Change your mind about that, lad?" Chibs said with a shrewd look.

"She was gonna bite that guy's fuckin' dick off," he said, slightly awed and entirely appalled.

"I don't think she woulda bit it _off_," Tig said. "It takes a fuckload of pressure to bite through a dick, especially when it's erect. Human teeth aren't that sharp."

Chibs and Happy stared at him.

He shifted his weight and frowned down at his boots. "It just—it came up in conversation once," he muttered.

"Tiggy," Chibs said with a heavy sigh, "we are brothers and I love you, but you are one sick, twisted fuck, you know that?"

He shrugged, weakly, but didn't bother to deny it. Wasn't any point anyway: they all knew it was true.

* * *

Luckily the van was an old enough model that Olivia was able to hot wire it without much trouble. She got it going and Juice hopped into the passenger seat. They drove slowly past the other guys, and she heard the sound of motorcycle engines firing behind them.

"They do realize I have no fucking clue where we are, right?" she said with a glance in the rearview mirror.

His shoulders rippled. "None of us do. I'm sure we'll see a sign or something once we hit the road."

Her grip on the wheel was tight, her body unusually tense. Juice scooted a bit closer to the window, away from her.

"I didn't mean you," she said.

"What?"

"What I said before about needing space. I meant all of them. I didn't mean you."

"Oh," he said. "You don't have to—" He broke off and peered out the window.

"Don't have to what?"

Another shrug. "Tell me what you think I want to hear."

She glowered at the road ahead. "I'm not. When have I ever done that?"

He conceded that point with a tilt of his head. He clenched his good hand into a fist and stared down at it. "I'm sorry you had to do that."

"Which part?" she said with a snort.

"All of it. The thing with Teddy, and then later with the guard."

"I—" She started to make light of it, turn it into a joke like Happy had (which, to be honest, she'd rather appreciated at the time), but this was Juice. They didn't do that with each other. "I need a really long shower," she finally said.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Me too."

* * *

The bulk of the club ended up at the cabin. They sent the crow eaters and families to the gun warehouse. Gemma elected to go there, too—partially to stay away from Olivia, but also because she was still the person everyone looked to in times of crisis, and she knew where she was needed the most.

Both the Indian Hills and SanDino charters were on their way, and they'd been apprised of the situation, sans as much about Olivia as they could leave out per her request. Red-the-prospect (as Olivia couldn't help but think of him), Rat, and West were guarding Tara at the hospital. Someone had finally thought to tell Tig and Olivia that Chucky wasn't dead, and they'd greeted the news with whoops of joy (Tig) and tears (Olivia) and a huge hug that spoke strongly of their shared ordeal.

There had been a brief stop at Olivia's for some clothes, and when she'd come out looking ready to commit murder, Juice had to sheepishly explain what he'd done to the bedroom. She'd just closed her eyes, shaken her head, and climbed back in the van.

It was necessarily tight living quarters, with several of the guys camping outside, but it hadn't even been a discussion: obviously Olivia would have one of the bedrooms, and if Juice wanted to stay in there with her…well, more room on the floor for everyone else.

Besides, despite the way she dismissed everyone's expressions of concern, it was clear Olivia was deeply shaken by what had happened at the warehouse. While she'd asked for physical space and they gave it to her gladly, she also seemed unnerved by the idea of being left alone.

Finally, at almost four AM, Olivia was able to drag Juice into the larger of the two bedrooms—not the one where Darvany had died, but the one where she and Tara had operated on Bobby—to properly bind his finger and see about the cut on his head. She got the finger set and applied a couple of butterfly bandages to his brow. Then she disappeared into the bathroom for a while, and he thought he could hear her crying over the sound of the shower. He had hoped, if she needed to cry, that she would've come to him. He guessed maybe some things had to be wrestled with alone.

When she emerged she looked markedly improved. Steadier and somehow less weary, though no less tired.

"Next," she said with a brief smile. She wanted to reach for him as he passed her, but she wasn't sure…how, exactly. Physical intimacy had never been an issue between them—except for when they'd been struggling to stay away from each other—but suddenly she felt like a gulf had opened and she had no idea how to get across it.

It was like the aftermath of the abortion, but…dirtier.

She sat on the bed and rubbed lotion onto her damp skin, thankful it smelled nothing like strawberries. It was goat's milk and honey, a homemade mix she bought at the market downtown, and the familiar scent was comforting. She stared down at the glass bottle and had the sudden, almost irresistible urge to throw it against the wall just to watch it shatter.

Instead her hand tightened around it until her fingers ached. She set it on the nightstand and tugged a t-shirt over her head. She heard the shower shut off, and a few moments later Juice appeared, a towel slung low on his hips. He held it up with one hand while he dug through the small bag she'd packed for them.

She watched him, her gaze caressing every detail of his body like she'd never seen it before. His back was beautiful, a work of art in a way only a man's back could be—and she'd seen some really gorgeous women's backs in her day. His waist melded into his hips into his legs without no demarcation between them, which is why he always had to wear a belt and ended up with his underwear showing anyway. She loved his legs: the bulge of his thighs, the strength in his calves. The line where his ankle curved down into his foot.

His shoulders. The width of them. The way his strong arms wrapped around her and his big hands stroked her and he always made her feel so fucking—_cherished_. It wasn't a feeling she'd ever thought she'd needed until she met him. Until _he_ made her feel that way and she'd realized it was exactly what she'd been missing all along.

Juice Ortiz was exactly what she'd been missing all along. His contagious grin and his warm brown eyes and the sound of his laugh. His vulnerability and his sweetness. His aching desire to please, to be accepted, to be loved instead of scorned. He had so much love to give, and apparently no one wanted it. No one even saw it.

They were all fucking idiots, and their lives were poorer for it.

Her heart hurt, but it was a sweet pain. She hated what had happened today. She hated, even, that she'd kissed Tig and sat in his lap, no matter the reason. She despised the memory of Teddy's hands on her, and O'Rourke's greasy smirk as she'd knelt in front of him.

She held out a hand. Her fingers shook, but she didn't care. He hadn't noticed her watching him, or if did he hadn't acknowledged it. The towel fell to the floor and he tugged on a pair of boxers. He looked up then, and saw her hand, and his brow furrowed.

"Liv…?"

"Please—" She broke off and had to clear her throat. "Please, Juice, I need…"

"What?" he said quietly. He laced his fingers through hers. "Tell me what you need, sweetheart."

"You." She tugged him closer. "I need you."

He climbed into bed next to her, but he hesitated before he touched her. He thought she wasn't talking about sex, but in one way it would be easier if she were. He could do that. Sex, with Olivia, had never been any kind of problem. But this…he wanted to be what she needed. He wanted to live up to the trust he saw in her eyes, but he wasn't sure he could. Not now. Not after a day like the one they'd just had.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"I don't think I can," he replied in a choked whisper.

Her face went tight. She wiped furiously at a tear that escaped to track down her cheek. "Right," she said. "Of course. It's late and we're both exhausted. We need sleep, not—"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"_Pretend_. Try to fake it. It might work with them," he said and jerked his thumb toward the living room, "but it's never worked with me."

Her lips curved. "I've never had to fake it with you, baby," she said, low and sultry.

"Don't do that either."

"What do you want me to do, Juice?" she said, her temper flaring. "Why don't you tell me, because I'm not sure there's a script for this. How should I react in the aftermath of my boyfriend seeing me almost raped twice in one day?"

He paused, momentarily derailed. She'd never actually called him her boyfriend before. It just wasn't language they really used. He shook his head to focus.

"I don't know, Olivia. How do I react in the aftermath of seeing it? How do I react knowing I couldn't help you, and if you weren't—if things had gone the slightest bit different, it would've happened? And I just fucking _sat_ there, completely fucking _helpless_, while that cocksucker put his fucking hands all over you like he had some kind of _right!_"

He was practically shouting by the last word, but she regarded him calmly. "If I weren't what?"

"Huh?"

"You said _I couldn't help you, and if you weren't_…but then you changed your mind. If I weren't _what_?"

He gave a restless, angry shrug. "I don't know. There are days when I feel like I know you inside and out. Like you're an open book and I can read every fuckin' page. Then other days, like today, I realize you're a total mystery. I don't have a goddamn clue who you are. I love you so much it _hurts_, but I'm not even sure I really know you at all."

"You killed a man today," she said. "He begged you for his life. He was a Federal Agent, supposedly one of the good guys. And yet you shot him in the throat and left him to bleed out."

"You said you didn't have a problem with that."

She lifted her hands in a shrug. "I don't." She looked away, her normally bright eyes dark and stormy. "We both saw sides of each other today we've never seen before. Ugly sides. I think we both knew they were there—that's hardly the first man you've killed, after all, and you know I've done desperate things in my life to survive—but it's different when it's shoved in your face."

"You told me you still want to marry me," he said.

Her chin tilted toward him. "I do," she said. "You said the same thing."

"I meant it, too."

"Okay," she said. "Then why can't you touch me now?"

He let out a long breath and rubbed a hand over his scalp. He scowled down at the bed and picked at an invisible bit of lint.

"Juice," she said and brushed her fingers against his shoulder. "Talk to me."

His head shot up, and the look on his face was so fierce it made her breath catch. "Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now? Look, you've taught me a lot about—about misogyny and sexism and just _women_, in general, but even before I met you I never in my life thought of a woman as a possession."

Her mouth was dry. "I don't understand," she said. "Are you angry because I—"

"Stop." He held up a hand. "I'm not angry at _you_. I'm actually pretty fuckin' proud of you, even though I know telling you that is a good way to piss you off."

"It's not—"

"Come on, Liv. You hate patronizing shit like that."

A smile tugged at her lips. "And you claim I'm a mystery."

"Some stuff's easy," he grumbled. He sighed again. "You remember the day I thought you were flirting with that girl at Diosa and I got so mad?"

"Hard to forget."

"You accused me of acting like someone had touched my toy without my permission."

"Is that what this is about?"

"I don't mean it like that. I mean—I'm not sure how I mean it. All I know is watching him touch you, and watching you have to touch the other guy, and have to pretend to flirt and act like none of it bothered you—it did more than piss me off."

She lifted a brow. "It made you—what? Want to mark your territory?"

His jaw fell open. He closed it again and gave a confused shake of his head. "That isn't what I mean when I say you're mine."

"I know it's not. It isn't what I mean, either. Doesn't mean I want anyone else pawing at you. Doesn't mean I could sit calmly by while someone hurt you."

"Except that's exactly what I fucking _did_," he said through gritted teeth.

"So did I," she said, quietly. She sighed and shook her head. "Teddy is a sadist, Juice. He doesn't get off on sex; he gets off on pain and fear. If you'd reacted the way you wanted to—if either of us had—it would've fed right into his fantasy. Honestly I think he'd been imagining that scene for ages, and the fact that we were indifferent to him ruined it."

He ran a hesitant knuckle down her arm. "You knew to laugh at him."

"Not my first rodeo," she said with a sad wistfulness to her voice.

His fist clenched on a handful of sheet and the muscles danced in his jaw. "You're so fucking _calm_."

"Not calm, love. _Hard_. Because I had to make myself that way, or I would've died a long time ago. I would've given up and let one of them kill me, or I would've done a better job with that steak knife."

She wrapped an arm around her middle. "There's something broken in me, Juice. I will never be whole and I will never be well."

He looked at her with soft eyes. "Neither will I, Olivia. That's why we're so much better together than we are apart."

The spark of anger returned and she shoved at his shoulder. "So then touch me! Put your hands on me and wrap your arms around me and just _be_ with me!"

"I can't!"

"Why not, Juice? Am I really that—that _corrupted_? Is it really that hard for you to deal with another man's hands on me?"

"You're not corrupted, Olivia, but when another man's touching you like that then damn right it is. He had no fucking right! Neither of them did."

"But you _do. _I'm not asking you to fuck me! I get that that's the last thing you would want to do after—after everything."

"Except it is," he said almost like he was in pain. "It's exactly what I want to do. I want to fuck you into the mattress. I want to fuck you until you can't walk right. I want to hold you down and kiss you and lick you and bite you and goddamn _fuck_ you until you scream. And I want you to scream _my_ name. Just that. Nothing else. Don't tell me it's good or that you don't want me to stop; don't tell me what you want or that you love me; just my name over and over until the whole fucking world knows you're _mine_, Olivia. _Mine_ and no one else can lay their hands on you."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. He had, on occasion, shown a more dominant side in their sex life—one of the more memorable being the time he'd just mentioned, at Diosa after that stupid fight—but she'd never quite seen _this_ version of Juice Ortiz. Just last night (though it seemed like a hundred years ago, now) he'd had his head between her thighs as he made her come over and over until she told him to stop…and then when his turn came he'd squirmed and writhed and let her tease him, get him right to the edge, and then leave him hard and aching.

Juice liked to be dominated, plain and simple. Not in a painful or humiliating way (which Olivia would never do anyway, because gross), but in a way that let him know with utter certainty that someone else was in charge, and his only job was to do what he was told, and do it well.

Murderous biker by day, eager sub by night.

The contrast of it, the incongruity, turned her on almost as much as anything else. No one would ever mistake Juice for an alpha male—not in a room as bristling with testosterone as the fucking SAMCRO clubhouse—but the cut carried with it a certain badass gravitas, and when they were in bed together (or wherever they happened to be, since a bed had always been completely optional) and she had him lust-wrecked and begging, it was more erotic than she could really put into words. Now, though, his impassioned little speech made her shiver with need, and she suddenly wished they were nearly anywhere else than at this stupid cabin surrounded by his sleeping brothers.

He took her silence for horror, her shudder for revulsion, and he crumpled in on himself. "I'm sorry." He scrubbed at his scalp with both hands. "Jesus Christ, Liv, I'm so fucking sorry. If you want me to go sleep somewhere else I understand. I never meant—"

"Hush," she said and pressed her hand to his mouth. "I was just thinking—considering the circumstances—that maybe I could whisper your name instead. Or gasp it. Or, maybe, moan it. Quietly."

"What?" he said, thoroughly nonplussed and mildly aroused.

She guided him closer with a finger under his chin. "I would love it if you fucked me into the mattress, Juicy. I would love for you to hold me down and remind me that _you're_ the one who touches me. No one else."

"I didn't protect you today, Liv," he said, his face scrunched.

"I protected us both," she said. "There was no other choice. I just wish he hadn't hurt you at all. He broke your finger."

"It's just a finger. It'll heal."

"Not the point," she said as her voice grew heated. "You're mine, Ortiz. He doesn't get to hurt you. He doesn't get to touch you at all."

"He doesn't get to touch you, either," he said, roughly.

"Who does, Juicy?" she murmured near his mouth.

"Me," he choked out. "Only me." He tangled his fingers in her hair and dragged her against him. "I don't want to hurt you, baby. I don't want to scare you."

"You never scare me, love. I watched you shoot a man in cold blood and it didn't scare me. You know why?"

"Tell me."

She smiled at him, warm and sweet. "Because I trust you. Because you're mine and I'm yours and everything else is just details."

He eased her back on the bed, and contrary to his words his mouth was gentle against hers. He pulled her shirt up and kissed his way down her body. He moved her panties aside and brushed his fingers over the crisp curls between her legs. He found the sensitive spot behind her ear and swirled his tongue across it.

"Who makes you come like I do, baby?" he whispered.

"No one," she said in a quiet whimper as he flicked her clit.

"That's right. And who gets you wet like me?"

His breath was hot on her skin. He dipped a finger into her to the second knuckle and pulled it out again. She squirmed a little. "Nobody," she said.

"Mmmhhmm," he said. "Who eats you out like I do?"

"Is that what you're going to do now?"

He made a low noise of disapproval. "No, Liv. I'm gonna fuck you so hard and so good you forget your name. But I asked you a question."

She smirked. She kind of liked dominant Juice. "I don't remember it."

He paused between each word to kiss or lick some part of her body within his reach: her ear, the side of her neck, the curve of her shoulder. "Who eats you out like I do, baby?"

"No one, Juicy," she said. His finger had been working her clit as they talked, and by now it felt tight and swollen and impossibly sensitive, and every brush of his skin against hers made her writhe.

"You like that?" he murmured.

"Uh huh," she said with a drunken nod.

"You wanna come, Livvie?"

She could tell from his slurring speech that he was almost as turned on as she was, and she pressed closer to feel his erection against her thigh. "Do you?"

"Not about me," he mumbled and dipped his head to capture her nipple between his lips. He circled around her clit, skimming past it without quite touching, before he rubbed directly over it, hard and fast, in a way that made her bite down a yelp.

"Fuck, baby, that's so—"

"What did I say?"

She let out a moan that she muffled by biting down on the heel of her hand. Correction: she _really_ liked dominant Juice.

He thrust two fingers into her and pressed them firmly against her g-spot. Her hips came up off the bed and his name fell from her lips in half a dozen variations: "Juice, baby, Ortiz, Juicy, lover, Juan Carlos—!"

"So good, Livvie," he said, his own voice going breathless. "That's so fuckin' hot."

He stroked his thumb across her clit as his fingers caressed her g-spot. It was so goddamn good, hot spirals of pleasure that lifted her higher and higher. She wanted to tell him, and her soft moans of his name turned into a desperate, whimpered litany.

He sucked her nipple into his mouth, and as his teeth scraped across it she came. Her cunt clenched around his fingers and her mouth fell open in a silent, wordless _o_. She had one hand balled up in the sheets, and as the spasms rocked through her she gripped his forearm with the other, her nails digging into the skin and her fingers tight around the hard muscle.

"Fuck," she breathed as she came down from it. "Juicy, Juan Carlos…" She trailed off with a shiver, and he slowly pulled his hand away.

He brushed a shiny wet fingertip over her top lip, but he pulled it away when she opened her mouth. He sucked both his fingers clean, his eyes steady on hers as he did it.

"Mine," he said when he popped them out again.

She ran her tongue across her lip. "You know, don't you, that you're the only one I _want_ touching me. Your hands, your mouth, your body. _You_. No one else."

He pushed her hair back behind her ear. "I know. But I'm insecure and need to be reminded from time to time."

"Well." She tugged her t-shirt into place and grinned at him. "If this is how you remind yourself, then be my guest."

"What are you doing?" he said with a frown.

"What?"

"With your shirt. What are you doing?"

"Er. Pulling it…down—back…down?"

"Hum." He grabbed the hem and stripped it off. Rolled over to lie on top of her so that she could feel him, hard and urgent, against her swollen labia. That they were both in their underwear barely mattered, and her breath caught in her throat.

"I haven't even gotten to the part where I fuck you yet," he said. Then he pulled back, his face a mask of concern. "Unless you're too tired. We haven't slept in—I don't know. A year."

"At least," she said. "Maybe two."

She shifted beneath him and he groaned. Her hand drifted down to free him from his boxers. He shoved her panties aside—again, and it was no less a turn on the second time—and plunged into her. He hooked her legs over his arms, but his eyes stayed steady on her face, searching for clues that she was okay. Better than okay.

She grabbed his head and pulled him down to kiss her, a hard melding of lip on lip that made them both wince even as they moaned into each other's mouths.

"Fuck, baby," he whispered. "Fuck holy shit—"

"No," she said.

He grinned. "Olivia," he gasped. "Liv, Livvie, baby, sweetheart, Liv, _mine_!" He bit the side of her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark but just enough for her to feel it. She kissed his shoulder and rolled her hips against him with every thrust.

"Babe, not sure I—"

"Doesn't matter," she said.

"But I want you—"

"Not about me," she murmured as she ran a hand down his back. "Not this time. It's okay, Juicy. It's good. Come for me, baby."

He pressed his face into the curve of her shoulder. He jerked against her, pushing deep, and she squeezed him with her slick wet cunt. He let out a strangled moan and she felt his cock pulse inside her.

"Yes, baby," she breathed. "Ortiz, Juice, Juicy, yes!"

He whimpered her name again and again as he came, and when he was finally spent he fell against her (carefully) with a shudder.

"I'm sorry," he said when he could speak again. "I should've waited."

"I told you to come, babe. I wanted you to."

"Yeah?" he said, a smile tugging at his mouth.

She kissed the pad of her thumb and brushed it over the split in his lip. "Yeah. Not sure I could have again anyway, after that first one."

His expression turned thoughtful. "Part of me wants to take that as a challenge."

She groaned and pushed him off her. "You are _way_ too energetic for someone who's slept like five hours of the last thirty-six."

He laughed and pulled her against him. He went quiet and still, and after a few minutes she poked him. "Still with me over there?"

"Yup. I was just thinking."

"Hhmm," she said. Her voice was getting sleepy even as she spoke. "About what?"

He hesitated. She opened one eye to pin him with a look. "Do you think it's weird that any time something scary or bad happens, we…"

"Fuck like bunnies?" she supplied when he trailed off.

"Uh huh."

She ran a finger down his chest and tilted her head as she mulled it over. "No, I really don't. We live scary lives, Juice. It's like the entire world is out to kill or hurt us, and the only time we're really safe is when we're together. And—" She blushed a little.

"What?" he said, intrigued.

"Um." Her hand fluttered. "Just, I mean. For me it's easier to show you how I feel by…touching you. Words are hard for me. I've never been that great at them. But with you, sex is easy. I don't mean—" She rolled her eyes a little. "I don't mean _cheap_. I just mean we've always been good together that way, even when we weren't good together any other way."

"I was thinking that earlier," he said.

"People express love a lot of different ways. For us, it's through sex. And, you know, it's more than just _sex_. It's trust and communication and all that bullshit that's important in a relationship."

He had to laugh at the way she said it. It amused him sometimes how horrified she was at the idea of a _relationship_. He wondered how she'd react when she realized that she'd agreed to be his _wife_, and that he was going to be her _husband_.

He decided not to remind her of that just now. "I love you, Liv," he said.

"Mmmm," she murmured. "Love you too, Juan Carlos."

He long-armed it across her body to get the light and curled up around her. As he drifted off he reminded himself to show her the bit of t-shirt he'd sewn into his cut. The look on her face would be worth any grumpiness over him cutting the damn thing up.

He fell asleep with a smile, comforted by the warm feel of her body against him and the soothing sound of her breath as she slept.

* * *

_I finished this chapter at about 11am yesterday (Sunday), and it's really ironic considering some things that followed._


	54. Wanted

Thank you, as always, for the thoughtful reviews. :) I appreciate the various points of view.

See the end notes for some references, if you're into it.

* * *

**that night you whisper like a ghost and you look so shaken**  
**you're so quiet and small and you tell me you want to be taken**  
**i just never think of you as the kind of girl who would say that**  
**you suddenly seem like some faceless thing in my** **grasp**  
The Airborne Toxic Event, "All I Ever Wanted"

She swam slowly to consciousness with the feel of Juice's mouth on the back of her neck. When she stirred he ran a hand down her arm to rest on her hip. She wiggled back against him and smiled. She hadn't had nearly enough sleep, but she felt strangely rested, and she was glad he hadn't left her to sleep and joined the others outside.

"Morning," she murmured, her voice still thick and sleepy.

"Hey, babe."

"What time is it?"

"Nine-ish," he said and continued to press kisses along the curve of her shoulder.

She could hear movement and voices out in the main room. She wasn't exactly looking forward to going out there. She was the only woman here; Gemma was at the warehouse, Tara was in the hospital, and they were somehow the only three old ladies with the club at the moment. The guys hadn't wanted to send Olivia to the warehouse because she was the one Doyle was after; they didn't want to endanger everyone there, and they wanted her under the heaviest guard.

She let her face fall back to the pillow and enjoyed the feel of Juice's hand as he stroked her sleep-warmed skin. "How's your finger?" she said.

"Hurts, but not too bad."

"Thank you for taking the van with me. I know it might've cost you some man points."

He laughed a little, a warm stir of breath against her skin. "Come on, Liv. I think everyone realized we might wanna be together, all things considered—and no one wanted to drive the van alone."

His palm skimmed up the front of her body to cup one of her breasts. He trailed his tongue around the curve of her ear.

"Baby, what are you doing? There is a room full of bikers on the other side of that door."

"There was a room full of bikers on the other side of the door last night," he reminded her.

"They were _asleep_ last night."

"Then I guess we're just gonna have to be really, really quiet," he said as he leaned over her capture her mouth carefully with his. She braced her hand against his scalp and grinned at the feel of his morning erection on her ass.

"You need a haircut, babe," she said as she rubbed his fuzzy head.

"I know. It's been a bit, but I left the clippers at home. Your place, I mean."

She nodded. At some point—she wasn't entirely sure when—they'd both started to refer to her house as "home," as though he didn't have a house of his own, and much more conveniently located in respect to both TM and the ice cream shop.

He tugged her nipple. Rolled it between his knuckles. She made a low noise of pleasure, and her lips curved in a smile. "Really?" she said.

"Mmhhmm," he said with an impish grin.

She rolled over onto her back, laughing quietly, and pulled him on top of her. "You are a thirty-four-year-old man, not a horny teenager!"

Still grinning, he kissed a line down her chest, between her breasts. "I'm a horny thirty-four-year-old man. It's really the same thing." He tugged her panties down and she kicked them away, then helped him get rid of his boxers. He dipped a finger between her lips to find her warm and wet.

"Looks like I'm not the only one," he murmured.

She lifted her brows in a sort of shrug. "I wake up with a hard cock pressed against me I'm gonna have a reaction. That's just the type of girl I am."

"Don't I know it," he said and slid into her. They both hissed; they were sore, a little, and she was tight and not quite as wet as they were both used to. "Sorry," he muttered. "I should've—"

"It's okay." She slid her legs up to twine around him. "Don't stop."

"You sure?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Uh huh." She rolled her hips and he thrust deep. The slight pain felt—oddly good. Really good, actually.

He must have thought so, too, because he moved in hard, intense jerks that made her head fall back and her body arch against him.

"Fuck," she whispered. "Baby, that's—wow, that's—"

"Good?" he supplied as he nipped at her throat.

"Fucking amazing."

He laughed, breathlessly, and shifted his weight to his elbows. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders from underneath and pulled her against him with every driving thrust. His fierce desire from the night before hadn't waned, and he had promised to fuck her until she couldn't walk—but he could tell he was hurting her, and he eased up a bit.

She shook her head, a drunken loll back and forth. "Don't, babe, please. More!" she breathed into his ear.

"Hurting you," he said, complete sentences utterly beyond him.

"Don't care. Fuck me, Juicy, like you said last night. Please, baby."

He let out a low growl and gave her what she begged for. She was slick and open now, and her whispered pleas were like arrows of lust straight to his dick.

"Is this what you want?" he rasped as he pounded into her, harder and deeper than he ever used in this position.

She writhed beneath him and her thighs gripped him tighter. "Yes, yes, fuck yes!" she whimpered.

"So good, Livvie," he said and buried his face in her neck. "Love you so much."

"I love you too," she whispered. Her muscles tensed and her cunt clenched him tight. Her breath came in hot, desperate gasps as the orgasm took her by surprise. He didn't let up, and by the time she came down from it he was right on the edge.

He kissed her, so rough that the split reopened in her lip. For a second he was horrified, but she just laughed and ran her tongue over the blood. The sight was so ridiculously, incongruously erotic that he lost the last, slippery grip on his control and let out a long groan.

She captured her mouth with his, and he could taste the coppery tang on her lips and tongue. She came again, harder than the first time, and her hips bucked to meet him as his cock spasmed inside her again and again.

She wrapped her arms around him as the shudders passed. He licked sweat from her neck and shoulder. She shivered and kissed his temple.

"Wow," he finally said.

"That was—" She wiggled and winced. "That was intense."

He pulled out and brushed a damp lock of hair off her forehead. His face was uncertain, his eyes probing. "I, um." His brow creased. "I had no idea you would—you would want…that."

She stretched, her feet trailing down his legs and her hands pressed against the headboard. "You're the one who said you wanted to fuck me into the bed," she reminded him with a teasing smile.

"Well I know, but it's one thing to _say_ something—"

"And another to do it. I know." She shook her head and ran her fingers over one of the tattoos on his scalp. "It's definitely not what I want every day, or even, like, once a week, but after yesterday—" She shrugged a little. "It felt cathartic. You know. Cleansing."

"I guess I get that," he said, doubtfully.

"I'm definitely going to be sore today, but it's good sore. It'll make me think of you." She brushed a fingertip over her lip. "Even this, now, will make me think of you. Of how much I love you and how good you make me feel. Rather than…the alternative."

He seemed to accept that. She kissed his jaw. "Are you okay?" she said.

"Me?" He looked confused that she would ask.

"Yeah, you. You were there, too. Both yesterday and just now."

"Oh," he said. "I…" He frowned and flipped over. Sat up and ran a hand over his head. "Yeah, of course."

She draped over his shoulders and embraced him from behind. Pressed a kiss to his back, just above his shoulder blade. "You don't have to do that."

"Hmm?" he said, momentarily distracted by the feel of her breasts against his skin.

"Pay attention," she said, laughing. "You don't have to tell me what you think I want to hear. Isn't that what you said to me yesterday?"

"That's not—it's not really like that. It's more like…maybe if I say it enough it'll be true."

"Hum. Has that approach worked for you in the past?"

"Not really," he admitted, "but it's not like we have time, you know? He's out there, and he's gonna be madder than ever. Now's not the time to dwell on shit."

She made a low noise of agreement, though he could tell she wasn't happy about it. A short silence fell. She rested her cheek on his back and he rubbed his thumb along her arm. He could feel her heartbeat, and the rise and fall of her chest with each breath. He closed his eyes and the moment stretched and lengthened.

Finally she sighed and pushed away. "Shower time," she said. "I think we've put the day off as long as we can."

He let her go with a reluctant nod. "Hey, open the window," he said as she walked by. "It smells like sex in here."

She laughed and raised the sash. "Uh huh. I wonder why."

He smirked, and she was still laughing when he heard the water start.

* * *

When Olivia emerged from the bedroom she froze in the doorway. There wasn't a single face she recognized. Their patches said _SanDino_ and _Indian Hills_, and they all stared at her in abject curiosity. She managed a weak smile and a lame sort of wave, and then she heard the most beautiful sound in the universe.

"Ollie lass," Chibs called from the kitchen area, "there you are."

She wove her way through the big bodies who parted to let her pass, and when she finally made it to the kitchen she let out a small sigh of relief. "Hi," she said.

Chibs lifted a brow. "Steady on, darlin'. We're all friends here."

"Right," she said, but her face was pale and her smile was still shaky.

"We got coffee," Bobby said.

"Oh, no—"

"Or tea," Chucky said. He held up the box and she grinned at him, a real grin that showed the dimple in her chin.

"Chucky!" she cried. She threw her arms around him, and he stood for a moment, startled and unsure, before he returned the embrace. "Oh my God, we thought you were dead," she said as she pulled away. "Are you okay? Stupid question. Of course you're not okay. I'm so sorry, Chucky. I had no idea—"

"Whoa, Ollie, Jesus," Bobby said. "Slow it down. The man just got out of the hospital."

"It's okay, Ollie," he said and patted her on the back with his awkward hands. "Not sure anyone could've seen that coming. It was pretty wild. Totally different experience from having your fingers cut off."

She pressed a hand to her mouth. Chucky's weirdness never failed to amaze. "It was, in fact, pretty fuckin' wild," she said. She shook her head. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at the warehouse."

"We had a few questions about Doyle and his men, some details you and Tig might not've remembered," Chibs said. "Plus for all we know Doyle might want to finish the job. Like you, he's safer here."

"Probably good thinking." She squeezed his good arm. "I'm just glad you're not dead."

"That makes two of us," he said. He shook the box of teabags at her. "Tea."

"Right. Tea. Thank you."

He turned away to make it and she ran a hand through her damp hair. Tucked her thumbs in her back pockets and shifted her weight from one foot to another. "So," she said.

"We got nothin' on Doyle just yet," Bobby said. "We were hopin' you could shed some light on a few things."

"Like?"

"I don't know, lass," Chibs said. "What sort of business might he have out here? He's based in Atlanta, aye? So does he often travel west?"

"Not that I know of, but I've been gone a long time. He had West coast interests, but he didn't handle them directly."

"Hum," Bobby said. He and Chibs exchanged a look. "So any idea where he might be?"

She accepted the steaming mug Chubby offered and smiled her thanks. "Um." Her face creased in concentration. "Well, okay. I have no idea what his business over here might be, but—he's a creature of habit. Always."

"Okay…?" Bobby said.

She lifted a hand. "Where's the nearest Four Seasons?"

"San Francisco. Seems awful far to commute," Chibs said.

"Two hours, give or take," said Bobby.

"Much shorter by helicopter," Olivia offered as she took a sip of tea.

"There's a helipad near that warehouse," Chucky said. "Sorry, I—sorry. Just—"

"No, Chuck," Bobby said. "That's helpful."

"You really think he would stay there, lass?" Chibs said. "Seems an easy place to find him, you knowin' him so well."

She shrugged a shoulder. "Yesterday was too easy. I mean, yeah, six people are dead, but if he'd wanted to keep us there he could've had sixty guys. Six was nothing."

Tig joined them, smelling of pine needles and road exhaust. "Guy loves his games," he remarked.

"Yup," she said. That covered it.

Tig gave her a one-armed hug that she returned with a squeeze to his waist. "How you doin', darlin'?" he said.

"Oh, you know. Like I just got kidnapped. You?"

"Same," he said. "But it's good to see this guy!" He swooped Chucky up in a huge bear hug and spun him around. "I fuckin' love this guy!"

"Thanks, Tig. You want some coffee? We got coffee."

"Nah, buddy, I'm good." He clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Man, she didn't even tell me what happened. I thought he'd just tied you up. Took her _three hours_ to cough up the truth."

"I told you why I lied about it, Tig," Olivia said and rolled her eyes a little. It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation.

"I know, I know. Makes sense. Doesn't mean I like it."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Chibs cut her off. "What's the word back home?" he said to Tig.

"They had my bike and Ollie's car impounded."

"Again?! You realize this's the third time my car's been impounded since I moved here."

"I got it out, Ollie, don't worry. I told them we hadn't been kidnapped; we'd just gone off to Yellowstone without telling anybody."

"A secret tryst," she said. "How irresponsible of us."

"Wait," Juice said from behind them. "Who's trysting with who?"

She cast a grin over her shoulder. "Tiggy and me. To Yellowstone."

"Very romantic," Juice said.

"What can I say? He knows how to treat a lady."

"Take notes, brother," Tig said.

Juice tapped the side of his head. "Gettin' it all down right here."

"I'm surprised they believed you without seeing me too," Olivia said.

"Eh." He shrugged. "I had that lady sheriff eatin' outta my hand."

There was a short pause, and then everyone within earshot burst out laughing.

"Handed you your balls in a sack, huh?" Bobby said.

"Fuckin' A." He tilted his head. "I kinda liked it."

"This is way more information than I need," Olivia said. "So are we going to San Francisco or not?"

"What's in San Francisco?" Tig said.

"Doyle, maybe," Chibs said. "The Four Seasons." He fixed Olivia with a hard look. "What's this _we_ business?"

"We, as in…all of you and me."

"Not happenin', Ollie," Bobby said.

She stared back and forth between them. "Are you kidding? You would all still be tied to poles in that warehouse if it weren't for me!"

"In all fairness, lass, we wouldn't've been in that warehouse at all if it weren't for you."

"All right," Juice said. "Let's not go there."

"No," Olivia said. "No, let's. I think we need to clear the air, and you can pass this on to Happy when you see him. I get that all of this is my fault. Eli. Tara. Chucky. The fucking kidnapping. Hell, Cindy! There is nothing you could say that could make me feel worse about it. I'm the one he wants, and the rest of you are just collateral damage—which is exactly why you have to take me with you."

Chibs let out a sigh. "This's club business, lass. You're an old lady."

She drew in a long breath to calm herself before she said something she would regret. "It's my business, Chibs."

"Not anymore," said Bobby. "Doyle kidnapped four members of this club. He invaded our clubhouse. He almost killed Chucky, and his men—" He broke off, cleared his throat, and started again. "His men shot and almost killed Tara."

"Because of _me_, as Chibs so kindly pointed out."

Juice rested a hand on her shoulder. "They're right, Liv. It's too dangerous. You need to stay here and let the club take care of it."

She spun on him. "Et tu, Brute?"

Chibs snorted. "It's not like that, Ollie."

"Sure, Chibs," she said with a brief, bemused grimace. She crossed her arms over her chest and dropped her chin. Clearly she was going to need a different approach. Getting angry would just make them close ranks. She didn't put it past them to lock her in the bedroom or something.

She raised her head and shook her hair back from her face. "Chibs, why were you the one to kill Jimmy O? Why did Opie pull the trigger on Stahl?" She studied each of them. "Why was Jax out in front when it came time to kill Clay? And Tig. Who killed Damon Pope? Because we all know it wasn't Clay."

Tig shifted uneasily and looked away. He thought about that pornographer he'd drowned in the tub of piss. "Not the same thing," he muttered.

"Hhmm." She flicked her fingers. "What happened to the guy who killed Opie? Or Gemma's rapist?"

"All right, Olivia," Chibs said, his voice hard. "You've made your point."

"_Gemma_ didn't kill her rapist," Bobby said.

"Guys." She swallowed hard. "I understand the politics at play here. I understand who and what I am. I know my status." She lifted her hands in a sort of helpless supplication. "I'm asking you to make an exception. I am asking you to please, please understand what this means to me. This is a man who has haunted me for eight years, and who, along with his son, made my life hell for the six years before that. I don't know how to…"

She paused a moment to collect herself.

"I don't know how I can make any of it right if I'm not at least _there_. I was seventeen years old the first time I met him. I was eighteen the first time his son shared me with him. He's been the boogeyman in the closet ever since. I'm a thirty-one-year-old woman who practically has a panic attack every time she sees a fucking _strawberry_, for fuck's sake!"

Bobby raised a hand a to stop her. "Okay, Ollie. Okay. Let us talk it over. It's…you're asking a lot."

"I know I am." She hesitated. "Thank you. I appreciate the consideration." She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered a little. "I think I need some air," she said. "I'll be outside when you need me."

"Lass," Chibs said, quietly. "Car keys?"

She scowled. "I don't fucking have them. _Teddy_ does. If that's not reason enough to put a bullet in his head, then I don't know what the fuck is!" She spun away and stomped off, shoving her way through the crowd this time and shutting the door hard behind her, just short of a slam.

"Should someone go keep an eye on her?" Tig said.

Juice shook his head. "Not a great idea right now. Don't worry; she's not going anywhere."

"Van's still out there."

"She's not going anywhere, Bobby. She said she'd wait for us to decide and she will." His brows quirked. "Now if we decide she can't go…"

"Your old lady's got one hell of a nerve, Juicy," Bobby said.

"She has a right to her revenge," Chibs said. He couldn't help but think of that night in the parking lot, just before the trip to Ireland. She said she'd sworn to be the one to kill Doyle if they met again, and she never broke her promises. It wasn't right, bringing an old lady along on something like this. It was club business.

But he understood where she was coming from. He thought they all did. He scraped a hand down his face. "I've got no idea. It's a sticky question."

Tig looked troubled. "None of you were there yesterday, in the shop. The way that son of a bitch looked at her…I wanted to rip his goddamn head off. But she didn't crack. She threw that fuckin' strawberry lotion in his face."

"He tried to rape her when he had us alone, in the interrogation room," Juice said. He huffed out a short, humorless chuckle. "She didn't fight back; she just laughed at him and he couldn't get it up. She knew exactly what to do."

"It's too personal for her," Bobby said. "If she loses her cool we're fucked."

Chibs lifted a brow. "Like Jackie lost his cool over that animal who killed Opie?"

"Burned an important bridge with the Grim Bastards."

"Aye," Chibs said, "but he had it comin'."

"So does Doyle," Tig said. "I say we let her come. I know she's an old lady and this is club shit, but it's also _her_ shit. Like Chibs said: she's got a right to her revenge."

"This ain't a formal vote," Bobby said, "but I would like to hear what each of you have to say. Tig's opinion is noted. Chibs?"

"I don't know, Bob," he said, heavily. "The lass is surprisingly steady in a crisis. If nothin' else it might be nice to have an extra medic along."

"Seriously?"

Chibs hitched a shoulder. "It sounds like she kept her head well enough with him yesterday, from what Juicy and Tiggy have to say. Leavin' her here, denyin' her a chance to look that bastard in the face when he dies…doesn't seem right, old lady or no."

Bobby glowered. "Juice?"

"I can't. I gotta abstain on this one. I don't want her to go because she could get hurt, and because I swear to God if he lays another finger on her—" He cleared his throat. "But I don't wanna leave her here because…of what Chibs said." He raised his arms and let them fall back to his sides. "There's no good answer for me."

"Fair enough," Bobby said. He tugged on his beard and glared down at his boots. "Goddamn old ladies comin' along on club shit. What the fuck's next?"

"We'll have to start patchin' in women," Chibs said with a wry grin.

Bobby shuddered. "That'll be the day." He gave a gusty sigh. "I don't fuckin' like it…but fine. She listens to every single word we say and she doesn't fucking question it. If we tell her to go buy bagels in the middle of everything, she goes. We tell her to dance the fuckin' polka, she dances. Any pushback, any bullshit, I'll handcuff her to my fuckin' bike and leave her in the goddamn parking lot."

Juice got the sense Bobby was talking to him, so he nodded his agreement. "Yeah, okay," he said.

"Go on and tell her, then get back in here. Callin' table to work out a plan."

"We don't even know for sure he's there," Chibs said.

"Call and ask," Tig said, reasonably. "Don't see why he wouldn't be there under his real name. Mick Doyle's the big secret, not Teddy Flanary."

"Worth a try," Bobby said, "especially if Ollie's right about him not hidin'." He pulled out his phone and flipped it open. "Church in twenty," he said. "Spread the word."

They all scattered, and Juice headed for the door to find Olivia. His feelings were mixed, just like he'd told Bobby. He knew it was important to her to kill Doyle herself—though he had a feeling the guys wouldn't let her—but he also hated the idea of putting her in even more danger.

Maybe she was safer with them. Maybe she was safer here. Maybe she'd be safer at the warehouse or on the fucking moon. He didn't know anymore, and it was driving him nuts. He just wanted all of it to be over: Doyle dead and he and Liv free of all this shit.

If such a thing were even possible.

* * *

_I got asked yesterday about Olivia's car. When I started writing this, I was obsessed with the TV version of _From Dusk Till Dawn_, and I've loved the movie forever. The Geckos drive a black 1969 Mercury Cougar. My mom mentioned that her stepfather had a green 1970 Cougar when she was growing up. Between the two, bam. Olivia's car. I decided I liked the look of the '70 a little better (though they use the same frame), but I gave her grandfather the '69. It's Mercury's muscle car, their answer to the Mustang and the Camaro, and it is, as she and Juice describe it way back in ch1, "grungy."_

_I was also asked about Olivia herself, like an rl person she might resemble. Of course Kozik says she looks like Dana Scully, but apart from the height and the hair, not so much. I tend to think more Mireille Enos, who plays Sarah Linden on _The Killing_. She was also Brad Pitt's wife in _World War Z_, and apparently she was on _Big Love_, which I never watched. Linden's style is this no makeup, baggy sweaters, hair in a ponytail, super low maintenance look, which is a bit like Olivia at the garage, but then you see Mireille at an event and she's a complete knockout. That's more Olivia on her days off. :) (obviously, before the haircut, Olivia's hair was longer; but that's sort of the color I imagine it; maybe a little redder and less orange)_


	55. Fears Like Soldiers

Sometimes I don't like writing these pre-author's notes, but if I don't the format looks fucked with the quotes at the beginning. So. Hi, guys.

Thank you for your reviews, loves. :) Enjoy...

* * *

**all i can think is that it must be a kind of rebellion**  
**to arm your fears like soldiers and slay them**

**and i can tell you that you're all i've ever wanted, dear**  
**through the din of your breathing while you're sleeping here**  
**you wake and you ask me if i'm gonna be here forever, forever, forever**  
The Airborne Toxic Event, "All I've Ever Wanted"

They left her in the fucking van, and there wasn't a word she could say about it thanks to Bobby's rules. Rat had driven—apparently they didn't even trust her with that much—but he'd been deployed elsewhere, so it was just her. In a van. In a parking deck. She was furious and frustrated, but she'd kept her mouth shut and thanked them for allowing her to come.

She knew what a big deal it was. She wasn't stupid. She was just a little blind and occasionally irrational where Teddy was concerned.

Probably better they'd left her in the van, all things considered.

She was a few blocks away from the hotel, and they hadn't let her in on the entire plan—something she found a little irresponsible—but they had given her a radio. San Francisco traffic could be nuts, and the last thing they wanted to do was haul Teddy Flanary four blocks, or have to stand outside the fucking Four Seasons waiting on a ride.

She drummed impatient fingers against the steering wheel and waited. She was sweating in her leather jacket, so she stripped it off and tossed it in the passenger seat. Her knee jiggered up and down. She smoothed a hand down her thigh and tried to relax.

The radio crackled and she swooped it up. Chibs' voice came through, and there was something so deeply calm about it that her nervousness instantly ratcheted up about ten notches.

"Out in five," he said.

That was all, three short words, but…

She shook off her dread and put the van in gear. "Check," she said into the radio and set it aside. She navigated the few blocks easily, and turned in to park at the deliveries entrance. Slipped her jacket back on, hopped out, and leaned against the van. She lit a cigarette and pretended to smoke it as she waited.

The back door burst open and Chibs and Bobby hustled through it. They were pushing a large cart loaded down with towels, and their faces were…not happy. She tossed the cigarette aside and opened the back of the van.

Once they were hidden behind the big doors they hauled someone from underneath the towels—and it wasn't Doyle. Her breath caught.

Juice's head lolled insensibly as they slid him up into the van. Bloody towels were strapped around his body, held on with thick leather belts. There was blood on his face, and his pants were soaked.

"What the fuck?" she whispered.

"Steady, lass," Chibs said. "Do what you can here, and we'll get him to hospital." He grabbed her arm and squeezed. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes huge. "Olivia. Olivia, you need to breathe."

She snapped into focus and the air rushed out of her in a long stream. She swallowed and brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. When she looked up again she was all business; crisis-mode Olivia.

She jumped into the van beside him and started barking out questions: "What happened? How much blood has he lost? When did he lose consciousness?"

"Shot," Chibs said. "Two to the torso. Fuckin' bullets went right through the goddamn vest like it was wet paper."

She chewed her lip, hit the split and ignored it. Of course they had armor-piercers. Seemed like Teddy planned for everything. Now they were shooting up the goddamn Four Seasons, and every fucking cop in San Francisco was gonna be all over this place in seconds.

She shook off her dark thoughts and bent over Juice. His breathing was shallow but steady. Airway clear. She turned his head to keep it that way and checked his pulse. She would much rather have him conscious, despite the pain, but she'd take what she could get.

"They had silencers," he said in response to her expression. "We thought they were waiters, for fuck's sake. Took us by complete surprise."

"Did you at least get Teddy?"

"Right behind us," Bobby said. "We had to get another cart since we used this one for Juice."

"Where the fuck are we gonna put him?" she said.

Just then, as if in answer to her question, another van rolled up between theirs and the hotel. Rat was driving it. She gave a wry shake of her head. They really _hadn't_ told her the whole plan.

"Backup," Chibs said. "Just in case."

"Close the doors," she said. She grabbed the medical bag she'd brought and snapped on a pair of gloves, something that seemed a little silly, but the routine step helped calm her.

Chibs clicked on a flashlight and held it up like a spotlight. She carefully unbuckled the belts and peeled back the towels.

"Holy fucking goddamn shit," she muttered. "Help me roll him."

He set the light aside and grabbed Juice's shoulder as she pushed from the other side.

"Not hollow points, thank God," she said and lowered him down again. "No exit wounds. They must still be in there." Hopefully nowhere near his fuckin' spine, she didn't say. "No way I can get them. I'm not a surgeon."

"It'll have to be the hospital."

Her head jerked once. "Can't be here. Silencers or not, I think a large pool of blood will be noticed at a joint as swanky as the Four Seasons."

The driver's side door opened and one of the guys from Indian Hills vaulted into the seat. "We ready?" he said.

"Depends on Doyle," Chibs replied.

"Bobby, Mendez, and West are on him in the other van. Got Rat drivin' and one of our guys sittin' shotgun."

"Good. Let's go. Gotta get this lad real medical attention, rather than some trumped-up mechanic."

He grinned at her to soften the words, but she ignored him. She _was_ a trumped-up mechanic, and Juice was bleeding to death on the floor of this fucking van. She grabbed another wad of towels and shoved them beneath his feet. If either of the bullets had hit his liver, or his spine…

She let the thought trail away. She didn't have time for that shit. "Put pressure," she told Chibs. "Hard. If we don't get this bleeding under control it's done."

He put his weight into it and she nodded her approval. She stripped off her jacket and draped it over him. There wasn't anything she could do. This was worse than with Bobby, and that had been bad enough. If only he were awake.

"Guy, driver guy," she said.

He cast a glance over his shoulder. "Shannon," he said.

Shannon the biker dude. Okay. It had been a guy's name before it was a woman's, so she didn't comment. "Hand me that bottle of water."

He passed it back to her and she wet a washcloth until it was dripping. Chibs gave her a curious look that cleared up when she held the cloth over Juice's ear. The cold water dribbled into his ear canal and he jerked.

"Whoa, hey." She pressed her hands to the side of his face. His eyes roamed the van like a panicked animal, and it was clear he had no idea what was going on. His gaze was drawn to the sound of her voice, and the second he saw her face he seemed to calm.

She smiled a little. "You look like shit, Ortiz."

He coughed his way through a laugh. "Fuck you, Gable," he croaked. "Fuck. Hurts!"

She had never been happier to hear a voice in her life. "I know it hurts, love, but I need you to try to stay awake for me. Remember when Bobby got shot? Remember how important it was for him to stay awake?"

He nodded just a little and gritted his teeth. She rested her fingers against his neck. His pulse had accelerated, and his skin was cool. Shock. Her biggest enemy right now besides the blood loss.

"Tie those towels back on and let's get him covered up," she said to Chibs.

"Cold," Juice murmured.

"I know, baby. It's okay. Just stay with me."

Between the two of them they got the belts cinched again, tighter than before. His skin was too pale. His lips, too, but at least they weren't blue. Sweat coated his face and ran down his neck to mingle with the blood in small pink rivulets.

They got him wrapped in Chibs' hoodie and jacket in addition to hers, and she was grateful for Chibs' puzzling tendency to wear five hundred layers of clothes no matter what the weather. Shannon added his jacket to the pile, and by the time they were done Juice looked positively mummified in leather and sweatshirts.

"Where are we going?" she called to Shannon.

"Concord. Far enough away we should be clear of the heat, close enough to do some fucking good."

Too far for her comfort. Bobby's shoulder had been bad enough, but she had no idea where the bullets were inside Juice's chest. They could be nestled against his spine just waiting for one wrong bump on the road to do some serious, irreversible damage. Or she could've done it when she'd rolled him to check for exit wounds. She clenched her fingers into fists.

Chibs touched the back of her hand. "You're doin' fine, lass," he said. "Look, we've got the bleeding stopped, and he's stopped shivering."

She nodded a little and swiped a hand across her cheek, heedless of the blood she smeared there. She reached down and squeezed his thigh.

His brow furrowed. "Gettin' fresh, babe? Not sure…I'm in the mood."

She grinned. "At least you still have your shitty sense of humor." She poked lower and he twitched a little.

Chibs caught on to what she was doing and kicked Juice in the foot.

"What the fuck?" he said.

She and Chibs exchanged a look. "Just checkin' to make sure everything's still intact, boy-o," he said.

"Intact?" His eyes went wide. "Are you sayin'…_paralyzed_?"

"Clearly not," she said, reasonably. "Don't get worked up."

"I've got two bullets in me, Liv."

"Well, that's true. But the vest will've slowed them a lot, so that probably lessened the damage." The words, designed to help him, calmed her, too. It wasn't bullshit.

"What a relief," he muttered. His eyes rolled back in his head, and just like that he was out again.

"Fuck!" His pulse had gone thready, but his breathing was still good. She slumped against the wall and pressed her wrists against her eyes. "Fuck!" she said, louder. "Goddammit mother _fuck_!" she screamed, bashing her fists against the metal floor beneath her and stomping her booted feet until the whole back of the van rang like a gong.

Chibs waited until she'd subsided, her head thrown back and her lungs pumping like a bellows. "Feel better?" he said.

"Not particularly." She drew her knees up and propped her arms on them. "Tell me what happened," she said.

Chibs sighed and settled in. "He was in some big suite on the top floor. Needed a key to even get up there."

"So how—?"

"Juicy did some computer magic. Got me on some sort of list. You know Americans: all accents sound the same to them. They thought I was Irish. Since I was on the list they didn't even call ahead."

"Wow. Shitty Four Seasons. One of the reasons Teddy stays here is because of how they value their guests' privacy." She said it like she was quoting from a brochure, and Chibs smiled a little, tiredly.

"Aye, well. It was a setup." He waved a hand. "We got up there; the guys were my security, and apparently I need quite a posse; and at first all seemed fine. We got into the room—more of Juicy's computer magic, this time on one of those keycard thingies—and there were two lads setting up room service."

"Did you search them?"

"We're not stupid, lass. Course we did." He sighed. "What we didn't do was search the fuckin' food."

"Ah."

"He'd had security posted in the hall, but we got rid of them easy. Guess we shoulda listened when you said _too_ easy." He lifted a hand to scrub through his hair. Grimaced when he saw the blood coating his fingers and let it drop again.

"We got Doyle and were on our way out when they made their move. Had a gun stuffed in a goddamn chicken."

She couldn't smother a smile at the image. "Wow. I mean, it's not funny, but—"

He snorted. "No, it's a bit funny. Not terribly, but a bit."

"Who would've thought to check the chicken?" she said, giggling a little. "I mean, sure, you search the turkey for weapons—but the _chicken_?"

He waved a hand at her. "Don't, lass, for God's sake. You get one of your giggle fits now we might never get you back." But he was laughing too, and it set her off.

"What the fuck, you guys?" Shannon said. He hadn't seemed phased by her temper tantrum, but their sudden mirth was disconcerting.

"It was in the chicken!" she gasped and doubled over.

They both laughed until tears streamed down their faces and they clutched their bellies in desperation. It wasn't even that funny, but stress does strange things to even the steadiest people.

"Holy shit," she whimpered. "Okay, okay, gotta stop!"

He choked and wiped his face with a clean towel. "Mother of God you're awful," he said.

She tilted her head, and suddenly all trace of humor was gone, like a slate wiped clean. "Either this or scream till I can't stop, Chibby."

A line appeared between his brows. "Aye," he said, drawing the syllable out in grim agreement. "He's gonna pull through, Ollie. He's a tough one, our Juicy."

Her mouth quirked. She tugged off the glove and brushed her fingers against his forehead. "They aimed for him, didn't they? No one else was hurt. Just him."

He hesitated a moment. Then, "We should've left him outside, but he insisted. He wanted to see it through."

Her eyes didn't leave Juice's face. "If he dies—"

"He won't."

"If he _does_, though…" She swallowed and her jaw went tight.

"What, lass?" he prompted when she didn't continue. "You can only kill him once. And I don't think you've the stomach for torture."

She shuddered. "No. Not even for Teddy." Her face creased and she shook her head. "I don't care anymore, Chibs. As long as he ends up dead, I don't care who does it."

"All that fuss and bother to come with us."

"Yeah, well, sometimes things get put in perspective for you. Juice is mine," she said, meeting Chibs' eyes with fierce determination, "and he's what matters. I'm not going to give Teddy a chance to hurt me again, or confuse my priorities. Fuck him."

He smiled a little. "Not sure I could be so sanguine about it."

"I'm nowhere near as calm as I look, Chibby, don't worry."

There was a brief pause. Shannon had turned on the radio, and music hummed softly from the front. "He told me you're to be married," Chibs said, lightly.

"Ha!" She pressed her gloveless hand to her eyes. "I guess that's a thing that's happening, yeah."

"He also said he'll be patchin' out after all this is over."

She made a low, complicated noise. "That's the rumor."

"You don't sound convinced."

She shrugged. "This isn't an easy life to get out of. You get used to a certain…I don't know. Way. To expect someone to just _change_, to just turn that off…" She trailed off and shook her head. "It's not a terribly fair expectation, is it?"

"Hhmm," said Chibs. "I believe he wants to leave."

"I believe he's convinced himself that's what he wants."

"He can't be half here, lass. You know that."

"I do. Trust me, I do."

"And what about you?"

She glanced up in confusion. "What _about_ me?"

"You've been part of this life a long time, too," he said, his tone gentle. "Might be as hard for you as for Juicy to, ah…settle down."

Her brows quirked in acknowledgement. "Maybe."

"Sounds like you two have a bit to talk over."

"So let's hope he doesn't die. I hate leaving conversations unfinished."

He barked out a grim laugh. "Good a reason as any."

* * *

When Juice opened his eyes he had no idea where he was. The light above him was bright and sterile, and there was a pain in his chest like he'd been kicked by an elephant. He swallowed around a dry mouth and lifted a hand. There was an IV stuck in it, and one of those damn pinchy things on his finger.

He scowled down at it and tried to remember how the fuck he'd ended up in the hospital. A noise startled him and he turned his head.

Olivia sat in the bedside chair with one leg thrown over the other. She was wearing the blue and white dress he loved so much. She must've had on some sort of pushup bra underneath it, because her boobs…well. Her legs looked amazing, too. She'd done something with her hair, made it soft and tousled, and her lips were an alluring siren red, full and shiny like the curve of an apple.

"Morning, sleepy head," she said.

"Am I dead?"

She laughed, her head thrown back and her short hair like a halo of flame around her face. "Why would you think that?" she said.

"Well, I mean, besides the fact that this seems to be a hospital, otherwise it kinda looks like Heaven."

"Funny, Ortiz," she said and rolled her eyes. "As if you're going to Heaven."

"A guy can dream, can't he?"

"Hhmm. That's one of the things I love about you: eternal optimism."

"So how many is that you owe me now?"

"Three. Here's another one: you're hard as fuck to kill."

"That's a really good reason."

She stood and moved closer "Resilience. What I always look for in a man."

"You don't look for men."

"Oh. That's true. Well, if I _were_ to look…" She smirked and leaned down to press her lips against his.

He lifted a hand to brush his fingers along her jaw. "Where's the bruise?" he said, his brow creasing.

"What bruise, baby?"

"The one Teddy gave you. Yesterday."

"Don't be silly, Juicy. No one gave me any bruises yesterday." She winked and lowered her voice. "Except maybe you, but I didn't mind those a bit."

"Olivia—"

"Juicy," she murmured. She trailed her fingertips over his mohawk, a feather-light caress that made him shiver. "You know how much I love you, don't you?"

"I think so," he said, doubtfully.

"Good. I know we can't have babies, and I know our lives will never be normal, but I think we can be happy together. We can get a dog."

"I like dogs. I don't even want a baby. Why are you talking about babies?"

"A lot of people want babies. They get married and have babies. Isn't that what people do?"

"No. Not everybody. Not us." He hesitated. "I'm gonna leave the club, Liv. As soon as all this's over."

A line appeared between her brows, the stubborn line that meant she was worried but probably wouldn't admit it. Her eyes were as green as he'd ever seen them, brilliant green, like emeralds but not at _all_ like emeralds because she hated jewelry and because her eyes were the color of new leaves. Springtime. Her eyes were springtime.

"No one ever leaves the club, Juice. Not really. We both know that."

Increasingly uneasy, he tried again. "Liv—"

"You still gonna marry me, Ortiz?"

"Of course I am. Except…" He trailed off with a frown. A sharp pain spasmed through him and he drew in a hard breath. "Are you sure I'm not dead?"

Her smile was sad. She rubbed her thumb against his mouth and kissed him again. "Not yet, baby. Not just yet."

* * *

"Clear!" the doctor called as they shocked him again. His body convulsed and everyone seemed to hold their breath as they stared at the heart monitor. Peaks appeared, and the frantic beeping slowed. "Okay, we've got sinus rhythm. Where the _fuck_ is that chest X-ray? Someone get those two out of here and close the fucking curtain!"

A nurse pushed Olivia and Chibs further out of the room and slid a blue curtain closed to cut off their view. Olivia pressed her face against Chibs' chest and his arm tightened around her shoulders.

"Come on, lass," he said, gently. "Let's go sit down. There's nothing more we can do right now."

He led her to the waiting room and got her settled in a chair. She was like a zombie, glassy-eyed and pale. There was blood on her face and arms; it had soaked into her shirt and splashed her jeans. They were getting odd sideways looks, so he wrapped his hoodie (recently rescued from the back of the van and almost entirely blood-free) around her.

Shannon was nearby on the phone, and soon he flipped it shut and took the chair next to Chibs. "Just got off with Bobby," he said. "They're almost back to Charming. As soon as they get everything settled they'll be on their way back. He said Gemma's already headed up here."

That got Olivia's attention. Her gaze sharpened and zeroed in on him. "Gemma? How does Gemma know?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "I guess someone told her. As soon as shit went down we let our guys at the warehouse know so they'd have a heads up."

Chibs grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Calm down," he said. "She loves the boy, that's all."

Olivia snorted and slumped back in her chair. She looked away, and Chibs just barely caught what she muttered: "Wouldn't hurt her cause a damn bit if he fuckin' died."

Except—and none of them knew this, and maybe it had been a really awful thing to do—but Olivia had taken out a sort of insurance policy in case something happened to either one of them. Yesterday, just before Teddy and his boys appeared in the ice cream shop, she'd mailed a little letter to DA Patterson, complete with visual aids.

She'd done it because she genuinely didn't want Gemma dead, and she had no doubt that's what Jax would do (or have done, depending on where he was at the time) when he found out. If Gemma were behind bars she might be safe. Justice would (hopefully) be served, and she'd never get custody of the boys.

Olivia supposed it made her a rat.

She didn't give a fuck. Gemma had shot Tara, and if Juice hadn't been there she would have certainly killed her. Gemma technically wasn't part of the club, so they couldn't use it as an in for RICO—though hopefully Jax' deal protected them from that anyway. She was confident Gemma wouldn't rat out Juice, not even to save her own skin, because then they _could_ try for RICO; void Jax' deal and come after everything the club had.

Olivia stared down at her hand, the one Chibs didn't have a death-grip on. The fingers long, the nails short and unpainted. She could see the trace of veins like a roadmap under the pale skin. A light scatter of freckles, golden and soft. She flipped it over and watched the pulse in her wrist.

What would she do if Juice died?

"He'll be all right, lass," Chibs said as though he could read her mind. "They'll get him fixed right as rain."

She turned her head to offer a brief smile, hardly more than a flash of teeth, before she looked away again.

She had told Gemma she didn't want to end up like Lyla, an old lady without her man, standing over a Reaper-draped coffin. After TJ Olivia had told herself she would never _need_ anyone again. Need was poison. Need was death. But now an older, smarter, and maybe tiny bit wiser Olivia understood that the need TJ had fostered was disgusting and cruel, a form of dependency like an addict for her dealer. He wasn't the high, but he dispensed it: those small moments of kindness that made her feel like maybe if she just tried harder or loved him more…

She gave herself a mental shake. That part of her life was over. For good, now, because the club had Teddy and he'd be dead soon. She would be free, _really_ free, for the first time since she was seventeen.

And what was the fucking point if she didn't have Juice? Everything she'd wanted for so long was right at her fingertips, so close she could practically touch it…and it didn't matter. She didn't care. Teddy could live or die or be eaten by alligators and she couldn't muster the slightest bit of concern. Tig had told her to use her rage, but it was gone. Evaporated and blown away like smoke.

For the last eight years she'd been focused on exactly the wrong thing, and it had taken a hacker-turned-biker with a ridiculous mohawk and stupid scalp tattoos to show her what was important, what was actually worth giving a damn about.

And now she could lose him. He could die in that room. His heart could stop, and his breath, and then she would never see his smile or hear his laugh or taste his kiss. Watch his face as he moved inside her or wake up with his arms around her, her sheets and her skin smelling of sandalwood and leather and his voice warm and rough with sleep.

"Oh God," she whispered. She ripped out of Chibs' grip and slumped forward to bury her face in her hands.

"Ollie girl," he murmured and rubbed her back.

She shrugged him off and jumped up. "Please don't," she said. "I just need—I need a second. I'll be—" She clamped her mouth shut and spun away. There had to be a bathroom around here somewhere. A bathroom with water and sinks and soap and—

She burst through the swinging door and into one of the stalls. Fell to her knees and vomited until she thought she might faint. When the dry heaves finally passed she flushed the toilet, collapsed onto the floor, and drew her knees up to her chest.

_You're on a bathroom floor in a hospital_, her logical, clean-freak mind said.

_Who the fuck cares?_ replied a louder, much more overwhelming part of her.

She had the presence of mind to tug the stall door closed, but she didn't bother to lock it; that would require standing up, and there was no way she could do that just now. She needed to wash her hands. Blood had dried on them, had crawled up her arms like snakes. It was hidden by Chibs' hoodie, but she could feel it on her skin, hot as a brand.

Olivia had no idea how long she sat there before she heard the squeak-and-swish of the outer door. She tried to make herself smaller, but it didn't do any good. Booted feet stopped in front of her stall. The woman knelt and peered in at her. Let out a long sigh and pushed her way in.

"Olivia Gable, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Falling apart," she said, her voice rusty as barbed wire as it passed through her ravaged throat.

"I can see that."

Gemma held out a hand. Olivia stared at it for a long time like she had no idea what it was, but at last she raised shaking fingers and twined them through Gemma's. She hauled her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Led her to the sinks and slipped the sweatshirt off.

"Let's get you cleaned up, sweetheart," she said, her voice taking on the soothing cadence of a mom.

Olivia had been without a mother longer than she'd had one, but that tone was unmistakeable. It brought instant tears to her eyes, wetness that had been absent as she'd brooded on the bathroom floor, and suddenly thirty-one-year-old Olivia missed her mother as keenly as fifteen-year-old Olivia had.

If Gemma noticed she didn't comment. She wet a paper towel and rubbed it gently against the mess on Olivia's arms. She got one side done, moving Olivia's unresisting limb like she'd position a doll, before she went around to work on the other.

Olivia pressed her fingers against Gemma's and their eyes locked. "What if he dies?" she said. "What if he dies, Gem? What will I do?"

Gemma sighed and tossed the last blood-stained bit of paper in the trash. She grasped Olivia by the shoulders and brushed her hair back behind her ears. "You'll mourn him, baby. You'll mourn him and you'll miss him, and eventually you'll move on. That's what stone cold bitches like us do."

"I don't feel much like a stone cold bitch right now."

"I know you don't. You love him. Everything changes when that happens."

Olivia's face creased. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

She turned away to dig through her purse. Emerged with a pack of Altoids and offered Olivia one. "You're a big mouth bitch with a mean streak, but that boy loves you. You're his old lady. You remember what that means?"

She sucked on the mint and nodded. "I put him back together again."

"That's right. So who the fuck puts _you_ back together?"

Olivia blinked at her. Gemma's mouth twisted wryly.

"We do, sweetheart. Old ladies gotta have each other's backs."

She almost choked on her Altoid. "Gemma, you fucking _shot_ _Tara_."

"That was a misunderstanding, and it looks like she's going to be fine and she doesn't remember anything, so no real harm done," she said with a bored flick of her fingers.

Olivia rubbed her forehead. "Jesus Christ," she muttered. Gemma's words rang false and hollow, and Olivia didn't believe her for a second.

She had, for a brief moment, felt a pang of regret about mailing those pictures to Patterson, but it was gone now. She would accept Gemma's help, because to do otherwise would cause the sort of drama that no one needed. She wanted Gemma calm. Complacent. Assured of her own place, despite Clay's death and Jax' arrest. Crises like these were what Gemma thrived on.

About some things Olivia was patient. She could bide her time. Play her hand carefully, cautiously, and bluff her way through almost anything. Look at what she'd done yesterday with Teddy and his guards.

Right now she had to make Gemma believe she was grateful for her support, that she welcomed her comfort, and that things between them were at least somewhat copacetic. When the blow came, no one would suspect Olivia's hand in it—no one besides Gemma, and they wouldn't exactly be listening to her.

She fixed on a small, tired smile. "Thank you for being here, Gemma. I didn't realize how much I needed you until you walked in."

Gemma slid her arm around Olivia's waist. "Come on, baby girl. Let's go find out about your man. We aren't doin' anyone any good cryin' in the bathroom."

Olivia nodded and allowed herself to be led away. She was cold, numb, and the only thing that penetrated her shell of static and white noise was Juice.

Only he mattered. The rest was just details.

* * *

_This's really random, but I originally had that sentence a few paragraphs up as "Look at what she'd done yesterday with Teddy and the guards," but I thought "Teddy and the Guards" sounded too much like a '50s doowop group, so I changed it. Oh, I figured out why: B-b-b-b-b-Benny and the Jets! T-t-t-t-t-Teddy and the guards!_

_Sorry. Ahem._

_More random: when I went to San Francisco we were staying at a tiny boutique hotel directly down Knobb Hill from the Ritz and it was impossible to get a taxi. The guy from our hotel would run up the hill and steal them from the Ritz line. Cab drivers didn't even know the hotel was there bc they just went straight up the damn hill. Also the dudes at the Ritz wore awesome livery with top hats._


	56. Stubborn Love

You can check out the end notes for a little more info, if you'd like.

* * *

**and i don't blame you, dear,  
for running ****like you did all these years**  
**i would do the same, you'd best believe**  
**and the highway signs say we're close **  
**but i don't read those things anymore**  
**i never trusted my own eyes**  
The Lumineers, "Stubborn Love"

A doctor appeared in the waiting room and looked around. Finally he gave up and said, "Ortiz?"

"That's us," Gemma said.

By now their group had grown to include Bobby, Tig, Quinn, Jury from Indian Hills, and Les from San Bernardino. Along with Chibs and the ever-steady Shannon, that made seven large, leather-clad bikers, one no-nonsense biker queen, and a petite redhead with big eyes and a split lip.

The doctor was understandably taken aback.

He paused a moment and pretended to study the clipboard he held. "I'm Dr. Bryant. Ah, um. Who here is next of kin?"

Chibs gently pushed Olivia forward. "The lass is his fiancée."

She shot him a look over her shoulder, and in the process caught sight of Gemma's surprised I-just-ate-a-lemon face. It made her smile. She stood a little straighter and shook her hair back. "I'm Olivia Gable. I guess I'm the closest to next of kin he has, legally speaking."

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. He lingered over the bruise by her mouth, and she could read every thought on his face. He was young, her age or a bit younger, with dark skin and a lanky build. She imagined he'd seen his share of battered women during his medical career. He knew the signs, and he saw them written in that bruise. The group with her, and the ink he'd seen on Juice, didn't help the impression.

"Just don't," she said and lifted a hand. "I've heard it all before, and this time you really _do_ have the wrong idea. How is Juice?"

"Right," he said, his tone conveying every ounce of skepticism he could muster.

She took a deep breath to calm her temper (and her nerves), and waited him out as he flipped through the chart.

"We took Mr. Ortiz into surgery to remove two bullets in his chest. One pierced the pericardium, but didn't actually touch the heart itself. He was _very_ lucky that it didn't do more damage. A few millimeters more and we would've lost him."

She grabbed the doctor's arm. "_Would have_? So he's…?"

He mustered up a tired smile. "Alive," he said. His expression turned stern again. "I don't want to mislead you, Ms. Gable. Your fiancé's condition is serious. We've listed him as critical but stable."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Gemma said.

He cut his eyes at her, and then back to Olivia. She nodded. "It's okay. They're family."

"Mr. Ortiz hasn't regained consciousness, but his vitals are good. We have him in cardiac ICU, and at present he's on a ventilator to help him breathe. We're hoping to see improvement within the next twenty-four hours. That's the key window."

"It always is," Olivia muttered, thinking of Tara. "When can we see him?"

He hesitated. "ICU only allows next of kin visitors. That would mean you, Ms. Gable."

Technically, she knew, it didn't. She had no more legal rights than any of the others, but he was doing her a favor. Probably one motivated by a vast misunderstanding of the situation, but at that moment she didn't care. It meant she could see Juice and Gemma couldn't.

"Who did first aid before he arrived?"

"Ollie and me," Chibs said. "Olivia, mostly. I just did the heavy lifting."

The doctor's eyes were grave, older than his years. "You saved his life, Ms. Gable. We wouldn't have stood a chance if he'd lost much more blood."

She thought, but didn't say, that it sounded like the vest had saved his life as much as (if not more) than she had. They'd left out the detail about the vest; it was hard enough explaining gunshot wounds to the cops without adding, "Oh yeah, but luckily he was wearing kevlar, soooo…"

"If you'd like to come with me, I'll take you to him."

She managed a smile and fell in beside him. When they were out of earshot Chibs nudged Bobby with his elbow. "Told you it'd be handy to have an extra medic around."

The doctor kept cutting her sideways looks as they walked. Finally she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong."

He blinked mildly. "I'm not thinking anything, Ms. Gable."

She lifted a brow. "Are you the doctor we'll be talking to most of the time? I mean, while Juice is here?"

"I'm the intern assigned to his case, yes."

"Okay. Then I think maybe you should call me _Olivia_. I hate the _Ms. Gable_ thing. Makes me feel old and stuffy."

He smothered a smile. "All right, Olivia."

"Good. Now that we've settled that part…look, Dr. Bryant, I get it. You see my man. My people. This mark on my face. You think you know the story. I promise you, you don't. So stop looking at me like that. Stop trying to think of a way to subtly pass me information on the local domestic crisis center."

"You seem like a woman who has her sh—uh, _stuff_—together, but sometimes a situation can get out of hand before you even realize it. _Just one time_ can turn into—"

She interrupted him with a gesture. "I've been there, Dr. Bryant. I know exactly what _just one time_ can turn into, and I promise you that's not what this is. So would you please just take my word for it and stop treating me like I'm the poor misguided, pitiful waif who's too naïve to understand her situation?"

He tilted his head in a brief, considering nod. "Fair enough," he said. "But you gotta understand—"

"I do understand. And right now I'm not offended. Keep it up and I will be. I do have the right to ask for another doctor, don't I?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that. I was in on your fiancé's surgery, and I'd like to see it through."

"I'd like that too, Dr. Bryant. So let's put this awkwardness behind us, and you can tell me all the nitty gritty details you left out in front of the others."

"Ah, well, it's not really—"

"A pretty story? I can imagine. Don't worry. I'm not really a _pretty story_ kinda girl."

* * *

This time when he opened his eyes he saw her and immediately knew it was a dream. She was perched at the foot of his hospital bed dressed the same way she'd been the day she came to visit him in the hospital two years ago: paint-spattered Chuck Taylor low tops, denim cut offs, and that damn Yes t-shirt. Her hair was styled like the first night they'd met, three smaller braids woven into one long rope down her back.

"Hey, baby," she said.

"Hey. I'm dreaming again, right?"

"Mmhhmm," she said. She lifted a brow. "You know you look like shit, Ortiz."

"So you keep saying."

"Unfortunately it keeps being true. You really need to take better care of yourself."

He acknowledged that with a brief quirk of his mouth before his face creased. "My chest hurts."

"You were shot, babe."

"Huh." He didn't really remember that part. "Bad?"

"Pretty fuckin' bad."

"Oh." He shifted in the bed and motioned her closer. "Come get in with me."

She smiled and toed off her shoes just like she'd done that day. But this time she crawled under the covers and snuggled up against him. They were both lying on their backs, her head on his shoulder and his arm draped around her body. She entwined her fingers with his and toyed with them.

He turned his head to bury his nose in her hair.

"You hate the new haircut."

"I don't hate it," he said, quickly.

She cast him a dubious look.

"I don't hate it, I promise. You could shave your head and I wouldn't hate it. I just hate that—I hate that I did it. I wish it'd been your choice."

"Ah," she said. "Well. Better than the alternative."

He didn't say anything, and a silence fell between them. He loved the feel of her pressed next to him like this, the softness and warmth of her body and the sweet smell of her skin and hair.

"Liv," he said, "am I dead?"

Her mouth twisted. "Nope. Not yet."

"You keep sayin' that, too. _Not yet_. Like I could kick off at any time."

"It's an option."

He wasn't sure the idea thrilled him. "Do I have any other options?"

She laughed and turned over to face him. "Of course you do, silly. We always have options."

Her mouth was suddenly more distracting than he could bear, and he spent the next several minutes kissing her. He murmured something against her lips and slid a hand down to cup her ass, and she pulled away with a chuckle.

"Whoa there, tiger. Not sure you're in any position to be gettin' handsy." She nodded toward the heart rate monitor, which had escalated rapidly. "Gotta stay mellow."

"What's the point of a dream if I can't make out with you?"

"It's not really that kinda dream."

He made a noise of disappointment but settled back against the pillows anyway. "Okay, lay it on me. What are my options?"

"You've got three of them, really," she said. "One, you could say here with me."

"And not get handsy? Ever?"

She grinned and kissed his nose. "Maybe eventually, just not right now."

"I can work with eventually. What's behind door number two?"

"Funny you should put it that way," she said and tilted her head.

He craned his neck the direction she indicated and squinted. The room seemed way bigger than it should be, and he could barely make out the hallway door. It was plain and square and white, just like any other hospital door, but around the edges glowed the most extraordinary light. He couldn't look directly at it, and after a moment he shrank back onto the bed.

"I don't think that goes to the hall."

"No, m'love, you're right about that."

"So…where does it go?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know. The undiscovered country. Whatever it is that comes next."

"You told me last time I wasn't goin' to Heaven."

"Oh, baby, come on. I don't even know if there _is_ a Heaven—or a Hell. Maybe there's just nothing. Dark, quiet peace."

He let out a slow breath. "That actually sounds really nice."

"Yeah, it does. But don't make a decision until you know about option three."

"Tell me about option three," he said with an expansive gesture.

"Well, Juice, I'm glad you asked. Option three includes a long road to recovery, a great deal of pain, and the general stress and bother of every day living."

She paused. Her expression turned thoughtful and poignant. She brushed her fingers against his face.

"It also includes me," she said, quietly. "_Real_ me, not dream me. Sea-scented shampoo and blow jobs in the backyard and a car named Caligula. Random red hairs on literally everything you own—though at least they'll be shorter now—and inappropriately timed giggle fits and the life we could build together. That's all part of option three.

"Option one is the easiest. Two is the quickest. Three is the scariest. The best and the worst. Your choice, baby."

He stared up at the lights above them and wondered. He could stay here. Have her with him every day—but not the real her. A version of her his mind had conjured. Idealized.

The door both scared and intrigued him. If the pain he felt in his chest now, the dream pain, was only an echo of what he'd feel if he woke up…well. But then he might never see her again. He had no idea what he believed about any sort of afterlife, or if his beliefs even mattered.

And then there was option three. To live. How long until he could ride again? Can't ride, can't vote. He'd promised her he'd patch out anyway, so did that even matter?

Yeah. It did.

But so did she. He wanted her. He wanted the life they could build together. So what held him back from just taking the third option and getting on with all of it?

"I love you, Olivia," he said as tears gathered in his eyes.

"I know you do, Juicy."

"I'm so scared."

"I know that, too," she said, her voice soft with compassion. Suddenly she smiled. The dimple appeared in her chin. "The good part is you don't have to decide right now. Think about it. Better to take your time than rush into anything, right?"

"Will you stay with me while I'm thinking?"

"Of course."

"Can I touch your ass?"

She considered a moment. "Since you asked so nice, yes."

He grinned and gave it a possessive pat. "Good. It's a very nice ass."

"It's your dream, sugar," she said and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

* * *

They threw her out after an hour—much longer, probably, than they really should have let her linger, but it was a small hospital and the rules were a little laxer. She wandered back to the waiting room feeling numb and shell-shocked. She stood in front of the big automatic doors and waited for them to open for nearly a full minute before she remembered she had to push the button.

Somehow she managed to rearrange her face into something more optimistic before they saw her. Rat had joined the crowd, she noticed, and a couple of guys she recognized from the cabin but couldn't match with names.

In what seemed to be a pre-arranged agreement, Chibs was the one who approached her. "How'd you get roped into this job?" she muttered as he slipped an arm around her waist.

"Bobby and me figured you wouldn't want Gem," he replied, masking his words with a sympathetic smile.

She hugged him, her back to the others, and said, "Probably good thinking. Somehow I don't quite buy her _worried mother_ routine."

He snorted. "Come along, lass. Everyone's anxious for an update."

As they approached the group turned toward them with expectant, worried faces. She quailed a moment, but Chibs squeezed her arm and she lifted her chin.

"It's bad," she said without preamble. "Like the doctor said they have him on a ventilator and all that. Um—" She took a moment to collect herself. "Dr. Bryant said they were _guardedly optimistic_, which I think is just doctor-speak for _we don't know what the fuck's gonna happen but we really hope we didn't waste our time_."

"How are you, Ollie?" Bobby said, the low rumble in his voice muted and gentle.

She swallowed. "I've—been better." Her brow creased and she raised trembling fingers to rub it. "I'm trying to be optimistic, guarded or otherwise, but at this point it's a waiting game. His vitals are all good, so barring some sort of complication it's just a question of whether he opens his eyes or not. That's all."

There was a brief silence while everyone shuffled their feet, unsure what to say. She wondered where Gemma was. Had they sent her away? She couldn't imagine she'd go. Maybe she was getting coffee.

"Ollie girl," Chibs said after a moment, "what do you want to do now? Are they going to let you back in?"

"Not any time soon." She shook her head and crossed her arms over her stomach. "Do you think someone could take me home? I need a shower, and I desperately need to change clothes."

"I could do that, sweetheart," Gemma said. She had appeared behind them and Olivia hadn't even noticed. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, so that guess had been right.

Olivia's eyes darted to Chibs and back to Gemma. "Thank you, Gem, but I'd rather—I think you should be here. If he were to wake up…"

She trailed off and Bobby picked up the thread. "Better Gemma's face is the first one he sees. One of us and he might decide to fall asleep again."

"I sure as fuck would if I woke up to Bobby's ugly mug," Tig said.

Gemma lifted a brow. Olivia read the look as easily as if she'd spoken aloud: _you crafty little bitch_.

Olivia blinked at her, slowly. _Learned from the best_.

Gemma's mouth tightened in brief acknowledgment.

"Besides," Chibs said, oblivious to their wordless exchange, "I, for one, would rather not have you two on the road alone. We don't know how safe things are yet."

"But you have Teddy, right?" Olivia said, pitching her voice low so any nearby nosy busybodies couldn't hear.

"Aye," Chibs said, "but you seemed to imply this guy plans for everything. You think he might've planned for this, too?"

It was a possibility she'd considered, but she hadn't found the energy to care. "I don't know," she said. "Depends on if his arrogance outpaces his paranoia."

"Or if this is exactly what he wanted to happen," Tig muttered.

"Also possible," she conceded. "I honestly—I can't think about all that right now. I just have to get Juice's blood off of me."

"I'll take you," Tig said. "I mean, unless you don't want me too, considering what happened last time."

Her mouth quirked. "Hardly your fault, Tiggy." Besides Chibs or maybe Rat, he was the only one she'd feel comfortable with right now anyway, and she really wanted Chibs here in case Juice woke up.

"Come on," he said. "I got an extra helmet stowed."

Great. An hour plus on the back of a motorcycle. She resigned herself to the discomfort as she hugged everyone goodbye. Both Chibs and Bobby were given strict orders to call if anything changed, and they assured her they would. Dr. Bryant had told her she was listed as Juice's emergency contact—something she hadn't known, and she wondered when he'd changed it—so even if they somehow didn't, the hospital would.

As she strapped on the helmet Tig handed her she decided now was as good a time as any to broach a touchy subject. She took a deep breath and Tig glanced at her. She smiled and his expression turned suspicious.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing!"

"Something. Just spit it out."

She wrinkled her nose. "You know where they've got Teddy?"

"Ye—eess," he said, drawing the syllable out doubtfully.

"Can you take me there?"

He sliced his hands through the air. "No, Ollie. No way. Not happening."

"Tiggy, come on. I don't want to kill him."

"Bullshit."

She huffed out a breath. "Tig, please. I just need to talk to him. I couldn't kill him if I wanted to: the cops have my knife and I don't carry a gun."

His face twisted. He threw a leg over his bike and wouldn't look at her. "Goddammit, Ollie."

"I know I'm putting you in an awkward position, but I deserve a chance to look him in the face after what happened to Juice. I promise you I won't even touch him."

"Fuckin' A. Fine! But if something happens to him, remember that it's _my_ ass on the line!"

"I know, Tiggy. Thank you." She paused and he cast a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder.

"What now?"

"Can we just make one quick stop first?"

"Your place? You wanna change?"

"No. Just like a gas station or a convenience store."

He tilted his head. "What the fuck for? You gonna play the lotto?"

"I need some candy."

"Ca—? You know what, never mind. Fine. You need candy, we'll get you candy. Get on the fuckin' bike and let's go."

She mounted up behind him and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Tig. I owe you one."

"You're goddamn right you do," he muttered as he gunned it out the parking lot.

* * *

The lockdown had ended when the club got Teddy, and now (appropriately enough) they were holding him at the gun warehouse. The place was heavily guarded by guys she didn't recognize wearing Indian Hills and SanDino patches. They greeted Tig and gave her sidelong, suspicious looks. She ignored it as best she could, but she was relieved to see Happy and West when they got inside.

"What the hell, Tig?" Happy said. "What's she doin' here?"

"She wanted to talk to him," Tig said with a sigh.

"Put a bullet in his head, you mean."

She rolled her eyes. "With what gun, Hap?" She lifted her arms and turned in a circle. Stripped Chibs' hoodie off and handed it to Tig. Underneath she was wearing a blood-soaked tank top and close-fitting jeans.

"Wanna check my bra?" she asked with a lifted brow.

"Maybe just to be safe," Tig said.

She knew he was mostly joking, but she didn't want there to be any questions. She pulled the hem of her shirt up and turned another circle. There was no room for a weapon anywhere they could see, just a lot of white skin and a sprawling tattoo.

"Satisfied?"

"Nice ink," said Happy.

"Thanks," she replied with a lifted brow.

He was the sergeant-at-arms, so it was mostly his call. He studied her through narrowed eyes and she met his gaze coolly. She didn't look pissed. She didn't look much of anything, besides small and bloody, but he knew it wasn't smart to underestimate her.

"Cops still got your knife?" he said.

"Yup."

He lifted his shoulder in a laconic shrug. "Go ahead."

She held out her hand and Tig passed her the hoodie. She put it on and fished something out of the pocket. It was a box. Twizzlers. Strawberry Twizzlers.

She pulled one out and put it in her mouth, holding it in the corner like one might with a cigarette. She offered the box around but they all declined. The door shut behind her and Happy cast Tig a curious look.

"I thought she hated strawberry."

"Fuck if I know, man. I lost my Olivia Gable magic decoder ring a long time ago. If I ever fuckin' had one."

* * *

Teddy raised his head, and he couldn't hide the spasm of surprise that passed over his features at the sight of her. She smiled sweetly. Shrugged out of the hoodie and hung it from one of the nearby shelves. She leaned next to it and chomped on her candy. They were both quiet, each assessing the other.

"Looks like they've been treatin' you okay," she said at last.

His eye was swollen shut, but otherwise he was largely unmarked. She admired Happy's restraint.

"It's wonderful to see you, my dear," he said in his cultured Southern tones. "I thought I wouldn't have the pleasure before my time was up."

"I wanted to stop in. Say hi."

He bared his teeth. "You're in a state. You could have showered first. Put on fresh clothing."

"What's the matter, Teddy? It's just a little blood. Well"—she chuckled—"quite a lot of blood, actually. But that's what happens when you try to kill someone."

"You tried to kill someone?"

"I tried to save someone."

"Ah. And did you?"

"I did, actually," she said. "That must sting. Not only are you here, at the mercy of these men, but your guys failed to do the _one thing_ you asked of them."

He sighed and sat back in his chair. "It's an old saw, but nevertheless true: good help is terribly hard to find."

"Indeed." She sat down across from him and crossed one leg over the other. Slid the colorful cardboard box over the table and lifted a brow. "Twizzler?"

"Strawberry. My favorite." His lips twisted. "I thought you had developed an aversion to them."

"I'm over it," she said.

"Are you here to kill me, Audra?"

"Nope," she said with a grin.

"To gloat, then?"

"Not this time."

He let out a short breath. "What, then? Get to it."

"Right. Because you're so fuckin' busy."

"You should show me some respect, Audra. Do you know I never lost track of you? Eight long years I let you run. You thought you were clever, didn't you? The way you moved. Changed your name. And seeking shelter with motorcycle clubs! Brilliant, and a real stroke of luck."

"Why didn't you come for me sooner?" she said.

"You were so deliciously afraid, my little strawberry. Always looking over your shoulder, jumping at your own shadow." He leaned closer and his smile turned vicious. "It's true what they say: fear sweetens the meat."

She laughed, a soft ripple. "Okay, Dr. Lecter. I think I'll just have to take your word for that one."

He straightened, and she couldn't tell if he were disconcerted or offended. She propped her elbows on the table and took a bite of her Twizzler.

"Must suck for you I'm not afraid anymore," she said.

His head tilted and he watched her through narrowed eyes. "Truly?"

She shrugged. "Happens when you watch the man you love almost bleed to death all over you."

"So you feel as though you have nothing left to lose."

"No, I wouldn't say that. I just understand what my priorities are. You? Are not one of them."

He nodded toward the box on the table. "Would you mind? I'm a bit—indisposed."

His hands were cuffed behind him, and then to the chair, and the chair was chained to the floor. They weren't taking any chances.

She pulled out a waxy red rope and stuck it in his mouth. His lips closed around it and he chewed contentedly. "Such a plebeian sort of pleasure. If my chef could see me now he would weep."

"I'm sure he would," she said with an amused smile. "I thought everyone deserves a last meal, so I had Tig stop by a 7-11 on the way here."

His expression turned sour. "_Tig_," he said the way one might say _dead cockroach_. "Is that the vulgar one we picked up with you?"

"The one and only."

"Really, strawberry, a biker whore? You could be so much more."

"Rather a biker whore than _your_ whore, Teddy," she said, mildly, her eyes never losing their sparkle.

He cleared his throat. "Could you please—?"

She took the Twizzler from him and set it on top of the box.

"Thank you. Terribly difficult thing to eat without one's hands. Now, where were we?"

She raised a brow and said nothing.

"Ah, yes, we were discussing whores." He paused. "I remember a time when you were far less hostile toward me than you are now. One might say _friendly_, even."

"Already we're at the victim blaming portion of the evening?" She shook her head. "I'm so disappointed, Teddy. I thought we were beyond such things."

"You know, Audra, it's possible we could work something out."

Her head tilted and the corners of her mouth twitched. "Could we?"

"I've never forgotten you. Your scent. The way you taste. How you used to moan my name."

She didn't flinch. She refused to give him the satisfaction. Her gaze stayed steady on his and her only reaction was a brief quirk of her lips.

"You were always bright. I imagine we could do wonderful things together. I could give you anything you want, my strawberry."

"Diamonds? Could you get me diamonds, Teddy?"

He snorted. "Diamonds are child's play. I could give you a mine of them—cruelty free, of course, because I know how tender your conscience is."

She smiled and leaned forward a little. "Cars?"

"A fleet of them, whatever type you like. I'll even buy you cars in disrepair so that you can tinker to your heart's content."

"Hhmm. An island? I've always dreamt of owning my own island."

"I'll buy you a dozen and string them around your neck like pearls," he said, his voice vibrating with conviction—and, she thought, _lust._

She ran a fingertip over her lower lip as she seemed to consider. Her eyes were faraway, thoughtful, and when she focused on him again she looked delighted. "How about this one. Give me this and we've got a deal."

"Anything, Audra. Name it and it's yours. I'll make you a queen."

When she spoke her voice was vicious, scathing, and it burned like acid. "Make me whole again. Take away my memory of everything you or your son ever did to me. Knit my bones and heal my mind. Smooth the scars and give me the last thirteen years back. Can you do that, Teddy?"

If she'd flustered him he covered it well. His eyes darkened, but his smile was as smooth as ever. "You would be surprised at the hurts money can soothe, my dear."

"Oh, Teddy." She laughed and gathered the Twizzlers box. Tucked his half-eaten piece into it and reached behind her for Chibs' hoodie. "I've had your money, remember? The only thing that will soothe me now is you, dead."

"So you _are_ going to kill me."

She knocked on the door and Happy opened it. "No, I wasn't lying about that." She nodded toward the grinning sergeant-at-arms. "I would honestly hate to deprive him of the pleasure."

Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's a reason they call him _Happy_, you know," she said with a wink.

"Audra!" Teddy called after her, his cool cracking at last. "Audra, my offer was genuine! I can give you everything you've ever wanted!"

"That's right, Teddy," she said over her shoulder. "And what I _want_ is your head on a platter."

Happy shut the door behind her and she walked away without a backwards glance.

* * *

_Okay. *deep breath* I basically have the rest of the story plotted out; I just have to write it...which is the hard part, of course. HOPEfully I'll be able to tie up all the loose threads I've created over the past 240k words and, well. End the damn story. Novel. Thing._

_What I would love from you, faithful readers, is some reviews. :) They help keep me motivated and writing, and for fuck's sake we're almost done so I really don't want to run out of steam now!_


	57. Empty

This chapter is on the shorter side, but that's bc the first part of ch58 is like 2.6k words long. Also, I mean. I'm trying to pace out my plot beats, so it worked better to end it where I did.

* * *

**i wish i was a baby bear sleeping on the ground  
winter grass in april while the sun was going down  
i wish my shoes were empty  
and i were still in bed with you there beside me  
with your dreams inside your head  
i wish the world would do what i want it to  
and i wish the wind would blow me back to you  
**Bob Schneider, "Wish the Wind Would Blow Me"

When they got to her place Tig took the helmet from her and followed her inside. He sat to remove his boots but she flicked her fingers.

"Don't worry about it," she said.

He looked up with a frown. "I thought—"

She shrugged. "Hardly matters, does it?"

He watched her as she hung the sweatshirt on the coatrack and set the candy box on the shelf beneath it. "You think he's gonna die, don't you?"

She didn't have to ask who he meant. Her mouth twisted and she looked away. "I want to hope, Tiggy. I really do. But when do things ever work out the way we would have them?"

He thought it over, his pale eyes darkened and restless. "Tara. Tara's gonna be okay."

"Right. Tara will be okay. And Jax will kill his own mother. And all of it, the whole sorry goddamn mess, will probably rip the club apart…after everyone's done so fucking much to keep it together."

"You don't care about the club."

She winced. "Not true. Not entirely. I care about Juice, and Juice cares about the club."

"Juice's patchin' out."

It was similar to the conversation she'd had with Chibs in the van, but she wasn't as comfortable with Tig, so she didn't share her doubts with him. Instead she just hitched a shoulder. "Yeah. He is."

His frowned deepened. He wanted to pursue it, but he could tell that she'd rather he drop it. So he did. "You got any food around here?"

"Kitchen," she said. "But, um. Don't take this the wrong way, but I could actually use your help with something in the bedroom."

He lifted a brow. "Well there's an offer no sane man would pass up."

Her mouth quirked. "Tig be Tig," she said. She motioned for him to follow her, and when they got to the bedroom he froze in the doorway.

"Holy shit. What happened here?"

"Juice. I guess when he found out Teddy had grabbed us he tore the place apart looking for anything I might've held back."

"Held back? You mean he thought you hadn't given us everything?"

She blinked at him, and after a moment he grinned. "Forgot who I was talkin' to. Sorry."

"I don't need it perfect, but if you could maybe put the drawers back in?"

"Yeah, Ollie. No problem." He stepped deeper in the room and kicked clothes out of his path. He hit something and bent down to pick it up. It was a garter belt, navy blue satin with black lace trim. One of Juice's favorites. One of hers too, for that matter.

"What?" she said at his look.

"Nothin'," he said and tossed it on the bed. "I've got one just like it."

That made her laugh, but honestly with Tig it was hard to tell when he was joking and when he was being completely serious. Well. What he wanted to do in the privacy of his own bedroom was his business, not hers, and it sure as hell wasn't her place to judge.

"Yes, but;" she grabbed another scrap of lace and satin off the floor; "do you have the matching bra?"

He snorted. "Do I look like an amateur to you?"

"I would never make that mistake, Tiggy. You absolutely look like an underwear professional."

"Damn straight. I'm a fucking _connoisseur_."

She smirked. "Shut up and fix the drawers, Tig. And quit pawin' through my panties."

They worked for a few minutes in silence, punctuated by the sound of each drawer sliding back into place and Tig's curses when he couldn't get one lined up.

"Tiggy, can I ask you something?" she said, her voice quiet and small.

"Um." He glanced up from what he was doing with a distracted nod. "Sure, Ollie. Shoot."

She fiddled with the blouse she held. Folded and unfolded it. Cast around for a padded hanger and got it lined up perfectly before she placed it in the closet. Finally, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, and honestly I know I shouldn't even be asking…but…what did you vote?"

He straightened and leaned back against the dresser. Crossed his arms over his chest. "The other day you said you didn't want to know."

"That was the other day. But, like I said—"

"I voted _yes_, Ollie."

"Ah," she said, a soft exhale.

"Look, I know why you did it. And I appreciate that you didn't bring Chibby's name into it when you could've. But you ratted, Ollie. Bottom line. It didn't make me happy, but I had to vote that way."

"No," she said, her voice thick, "no, I get it. There's a code."

He sighed and glanced away. Back. "It don't mean I don't love you, kiddo. I'm real glad shit worked out the way it did."

"Yeah. Me too." She scraped a hand through her hair. "Thank you for being honest. And for taking me to see Teddy today."

"You get what you needed?"

Her mouth twisted in a bitter moue. "I think so. Um." She gathered a fresh change of clothes and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "I'm gonna hit the shower. Make yourself at home. Food in the kitchen, like I said."

He watched her make her escape and glowered down at his boots. He was certain she'd known the answer before she'd asked, and he couldn't figure what had prompted her need to know right now. He shrugged and went back to the drawers. Like he'd told Hap: he'd lost his Olivia Gable magic decoder ring a long time ago.

If he'd ever fuckin' had one.

* * *

By the time she got out of the shower and dressed, Tig was in her kitchen stuffing his face. He had almost the entire contents of her fridge spread out on the counter and was grazing from each dish with all the discerning attention of a gourmand.

She paused in the doorway to watch him, a smile twisting her mouth. "I'll tell Juice you appreciate his cooking," she said before she caught herself. She winced and looked away.

He shrugged a shoulder. "You can still tell him. He's a lazy little shit, so he'll probably sleep as long as he can before he finally wakes up and asks what all the fuss is about."

She had to smile at the easy, offhand way he said it. He sounded so confident. She wished she could bottle that.

He examined the bowl of spaghetti he was eating. "Juicy made this?"

"You think _I_ made it?"

"Good point," he said.

She hesitated. She knew Juice wouldn't appreciate it if she got…maudlin. Or tried to defend him to a brother. But she felt the need to say something. "There's a lot to him, you know. Way more than you guys ever see."

He set his fork aside and propped his elbows on the counter to study her. "You're an interesting and complex woman, Olivia."

Her head tilted. "Are you taking advantage of Juice's coma to hit on me, Tiggy?"

He waved a hand. "I just mean—you don't seem like the type of woman to fall for a knucklehead."

"Oh," she said with a surprised laugh. "I fell for TJ."

"You were young. We all do stupid shit when we're seventeen." He paused. "You know they say a club's only as good as its old ladies."

"I've heard that."

"You're stubborn as fuck and you make choices I don't always like, but you're good for Juice, and that's good for SAMCRO."

"Don't try to sell me on SAMCRO, Tig. I'm too tired right now."

He lifted his arms in a shrug. "Just give it some thought, Ollie. We're Juice's family. Your family. We're out of guns and drugs and Teddy'll be dead as soon as Jax gives the order. We're goin' legit, and it'll be better for everybody."

"What about the Mayans and the Byz Lats in Stockton? That gonna be good for everybody?"

"How do you know about that?" he said, his face creasing.

"Jax told me the other night. You're dodging the question."

"Not dodging. I honestly don't know the answer. Maybe with Jax in jail we can win Nero back. With his help we can smooth this shit out."

"I don't think Nero's gonna be coming anywhere near this club once Gemma mysteriously vanishes."

He shifted his weight and pushed the food away. "I'm gonna have to go to Bobby and Chibs with that pretty soon."

"Juice already did," she said, tiredly.

"What?"

"Yeah. Again, right after we were taken. He told them everything."

"Jesus," Tig said and ran a hand down his face. "That explains why they were runnin' interference between you and Gem at the hospital."

She nodded. "They're apparently sitting on it, too. I don't know that they've decided what they're going to do. They hadn't told Juice either way, so—" She broke off with a wry grimace.

Before either of them could say anything else the doorbell rang. They looked at each other. Everyone they knew would have called first, and they hadn't heard a bike outside. Tig pulled his gun and held it low. He nodded her forward and she held up a hand.

"Just hang back. I have friends outside the club."

"Like who?" he said and made a face.

"I _did_ have friends outside the club. Once."

The house was small, and he had a pretty good line of sight to the enclosed front porch, if not quite all the way to the door. He gave a reluctant nod. "I'll stay here. Yell if you need me."

She flipped on the outside lights and peered through the peephole. The men on her doorstep looked like cops. Feds? Here about Agent Stephens? Possible.

"Can I help you?" she called without opening the door.

"Atlanta PD. Please open the door."

She pushed away from the door so violently that Tig rushed from the kitchen, gun raised. He stopped, puzzled. She waved him away.

"Can I—can I see some ID, please?" she said.

They each presented a detective's shield coupled with a picture ID and she studied them through the peephole. Okay. That seemed legit.

"What the fuck, Ollie?" Tig said.

She cast him a rueful look as she undid the locks. "It looks like Teddy's contingency just showed up on my front stoop."

His eyes went wide.

She opened the door and presented the detectives with her most honeyed smile, but when she spoke there was no trace of the South in her voice. "You gentlemen are a long way from home. How can I help you?"

"I'm Detective Barnes; this is Detective Riggs. Are you Audra Flanary?" the taller of the two said. He had sandy blond hair, watery blue eyes, and a baby face.

She shook her head. "There's no one here by that name. I'm sorry."

The shorter one—rich dark skin, shaved head, big eyes that would probably be warm under other circumstances—pulled a photo from his jacket. "This isn't you?"

"Certainly looks like me," she said.

Tig had holstered his weapon, and he stepped into the doorway that divided the porch from the living room. "Everything okay, Ollie?" he said.

"Sure," she told him, her tone deceptively casual. "I'm afraid these gentlemen have come all the way from Atlanta on a wild goose chase, though."

Barnes sighed. "Mrs. Flanary—"

"That isn't my name, Detective. I'm sorry."

"You aren't even curious why we're here?" Riggs said.

She lifted a hand. "I assume you're looking for this woman. And we do look a lot alike, so I can understand—"

"Okay," Barnes said, "that's enough."

He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her into the house. She let out a cry of pain and shock, and Tig charged forward. Riggs pulled his weapon.

"Don't fucking move, asshole," he said.

Tig froze and raised his hands. "Look, we don't want any trouble. You just tell us how we can help and we can work this out."

Riggs frisked him quickly and emerged with his gun. "I assume you've got a permit for this," he said.

"Sure, but aren't you a little far outside your jurisdiction?"

The detective hit him hard with the butt of his pistol.

"Stop!" Olivia cried. "Jesus Christ, I'm Audra Flanary. Or I was."

"See?" Barnes said. "That wasn't so hard." He spun her around and pushed her against the wall so roughly her head ricocheted off the wood.

"Hey!" Tig roared. "Watch it, fuckface!"

"One more word outta you and I pull the trigger," Riggs said.

Barnes twisted Olivia's arms behind her back and started to read her rights.

"No one's resisting arrest here, guys. Just stop."

"You lied about your name, Mrs. Flanary," Barnes told her. "That counts as resisting in my book."

"My name is Olivia Gable. I didn't lie about a fucking thing."

He wrenched her shoulder as he yanked her toward him. "Keep it up, sweetheart. You think your boyfriend's got it bad now? We can make it a whole lot worse."

She glanced over at Tig. Blood dripped down his face from the cut on his brow, but his expression was as furious as ever. He was bucking for a fight. Two armed men against one whose only weapons were his fists and his rage? Well. Normally she'd bet on Tig any day, but this might be more than he could handle.

"Call me a lawyer, Tiggy.

Their eyes met across the small space. She tilted her head just a little. Finally he nodded. "I'm followin' you to the station," he said through gritted teeth.

Riggs smirked and holstered his weapon. "Fair enough, douche bag. Gonna be kinda tricky with that flat tire on your bike, though."

"My tires are fine."

He shrugged a shoulder. "Right now."

"Tig, no!" she yelled.

He stopped himself before he'd even really moved. The muscles in his jaw twitched and danced.

"Call Chibs. Get me a lawyer. Stay calm."

"Come on, princess," Barnes said. "I'm sure your boyfriend can find a ride from one of his biker buddies."

"His ass looks like it was made for the bitch seat," Riggs said with snicker.

Barnes hauled Olivia down the steps and tossed her into the backseat of the car. Tig stood in the doorway and watched as Riggs shot out his tires and got in next to his partner. He didn't move until the car was out of the driveway and headed down the block.

He reached for his phone with a stream of curses so foul the insects seemed to hold their breath to listen. Some great bodyguard he was. Twice in less than forty-eight hours he'd had to stand by while someone hauled her away.

At least this time he had stayed awake for it.

* * *

DA Patterson and the new Sheriff (whom Olivia hadn't met yet) met them at the station. The two women took one look at Olivia's face and ordered the Atlanta detectives to deposit her in an interrogation room and, to quote the Sheriff, "take a goddamn walk before I lock you both in a room with a couple of her biker buddies."

Olivia didn't have to wait long before the Sheriff joined her with an icepack and a cup of water. Olivia grimaced her thanks and pressed the pack to her face.

"I'm Sheriff Donnelly," she said. "We haven't been introduced."

"Olivia Gable. Welcome to Charming," she said with a pained grin.

"Fantastic little town you've got here."

"Yup."

A silence fell while they studied each other. Olivia liked the look of her: steady, intelligent, and clearly hard to intimidate.

"How was Yellowstone?" she said at last.

"Great. It's really beautiful this time of year. And, you know. The wolves."

She lifted a brow. "It's funny. I thought you were involved with the one with the mohawk. Juice?"

"I'm easily bored," she said, quietly.

She absorbed that in skeptical silence. Then, "He said that you and Sheriff Roosevelt were friends."

Olivia's brow furrowed and she looked away. "We were."

"So you can understand how eager we are to find his killer."

Her eyes flicked to meet Donnelly's dark, steady gaze. "I'm eager for that, too."

She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Why were those assholes from Atlanta so rough with you?"

Her mouth quirked. "They said I was resisting."

"Were you?"

"They're the cops. I guess they would know."

"Right. Barnes has a hundred pounds and nearly a foot on you, and Riggs isn't much smaller. I'm sure you gave 'em a run for their money."

She winced as she moved the icepack to another spot on her face. "It's unfortunately true that I'm not very popular in Atlanta. The father of the man I'm accused of killing has…connections."

"Hhmm," she said, a quiet, speculative noise. "You know, Roosevelt had quite a file on you."

"Did he?"

"Crime scene info from Theodore Flanary's murder. Personal notes. X-rays, which made for rough viewing. Also a lot of information about one Mick Doyle. That name mean anything to you?"

She smiled, briefly. "A great deal…but I think I'll wait for my lawyer before I say anything else."

Donnelly tilted her head in a shrug and rose to her feet. "I think the DA wanted to talk to you, too."

"I'll look forward to it," Olivia said. "Just as soon as my lawyer gets here." She paused. "Thank you. For the ice and the water. And getting rid of those guys."

"They'll be taking you to Atlanta soon."

"Think you could get me a Marshall as an escort?"

Donnelly's face scrunched. "Not sure anyone would see that as a necessity, since Atlanta came to pick you up themselves."

"Of course," Olivia said. "Well. Thanks anyway."

She cast one last curious look over her shoulder before she swapped places with a deputy and went to find DA Patterson. She had taken over Donnelly's office, which was a minor annoyance since she wasn't even completely moved in yet. Donnelly closed the door behind her and took the chair across from her own goddamn desk.

"So," Patterson said once she was settled, "what do you think?"

"Those guys worked her over pretty good. I think she's gonna have a pretty nice black eye, and she was holding her arm funny."

"Hum." She crossed her fingers on the desk and frowned down at them. "Any reason they would need such excessive force?"

Donnelly's mouth moved in a tight, angry smile. "I don't know. Two guys, both over six feet tall and two-hundred pounds, against a woman who barely clears five feet and weighs, what? A buck twenty? Thirty?" She lifted her arms. "Sure. Surprised they didn't break out the pepper spray."

Patterson's lips twisted in appreciation.

"You had a chance to peruse Eli's file?" Donnelly said.

"It's interesting reading."

"He seemed pretty convinced this Mick Doyle guy really was her father-in-law."

"Do you recognize the name?" Patterson asked, her dark eyes probing.

"I've heard it. I don't think you can be a cop and not have heard it. He's bigger on the East coast, though."

"True. Lately he and his syndicate have been making inroads in Seattle. San Diego. San Francisco." She sighed, hard. "Girls, mostly, shipped in from Asia. Drugs, too, but from what I hear they don't like competing with the Mexicans much these days. Girls are cheaper and yield more profit."

Donnelly made a disgusted face. "Sounds like a real class act."

She inclined her head in agreement. "Eli seems to indicate that Ms. Gable had some fairly deep intel on Mick Doyle and his operation. Why he chose to hold this back—and the knowledge that she was wanted for murder in another jurisdiction—is…well. It wasn't something I would have expected from him."

"Just based on the way she's been treated so far, I'm not super thrilled with sending her back, myself."

"Nor am I."

There was a long quiet moment as the two women watched each other through shrewd, careful eyes. "Are you going to offer her a deal?"

"I would like to take down Mick Doyle and his operation. I know the Feds would, too. I believe they would be in a position to offer her WITSEC and immunity for Theodore Flanary's murder."

Donnelly drummed her fingers against the arm of her chair. "That one biker, the little one with the mohawk—he said she was his old lady."

"SAMCRO exists, I believe, for the express purpose of complicating my life. Perhaps she'll agree if he can accompany her."

"Into WITSEC? A biker? Really?"

"It's worth a try, Sheriff."

"Yeah, I guess so. She said she'll talk to you when her lawyer gets here."

"Good. Hopefully she'll be willing and we can enter proffer right away. I'd like to know what she knows."

"About SAMCRO, or about Mick Doyle?"

"Either. Both."

"I have a feeling she's not going to give you the club."

Patterson's lips tightened. "It's a strange bond, that of an old lady to her man. I know that Jackson Teller deeply regrets what happened to his wife, and while I do empathize with his pain, I also can't help but think he and his violent lifestyle brought it on himself. If Ms. Gable's history is truly as…harrowing…as Eli's file would suggest, I can't imagine she relishes the violence SAMCRO deals in every day."

Donnelly remembered what Bobby had said to her the night the ice cream shop had been ransacked. He'd claimed the club hadn't been involved in Eli's murder, and they wanted to get to the bottom of it as badly as she did. He'd sounded sincere. Looked it, too. But who could tell with these guys? They were professional criminals, and lying was as easy as breathing.

Except, for some reason, Donnelly believed it. She wasn't sure she believed Bobby Munson, but something about Olivia's face when they'd talked about Eli—well. Donnelly bought it. And she didn't think he would've spent so much time and energy compiling a file like this for a stranger. It was deeply sympathetic toward her and her case, and Donnelly thought maybe they'd been quite good friends indeed.

Patterson tapped the closed file. "Do you think he was having an affair with her?" she said as if sensing the directions Donnelly's thoughts had taken.

She snorted and shook her head. "No. He was head over heels for his wife. She's pregnant, you know."

"Yes," Patterson said, her voice grim and sad, "I was aware of that."

"Besides, you didn't see the way that Juice guy flipped his shit when he thought she'd been kidnapped. He went nuts."

"Clearly a man in love," Patterson said.

"Looked like it to me."

"You think there's a way in there?"

"Could be. If we can convince him it's within her best interest to make the deal on Doyle, he might be able to convince her."

Patterson waved a hand. "Make some calls. Find him and bring him in. Go easy, though. Kid gloves."

"Any reason why?"

"No sense making him defensive before we even get him in the door. We need to look like we're doing it because we genuinely care about Ms. Gable's welfare."

Donnelly's mouth tilted. "You're the boss." She paused. "Mind if I get my phone back?"

She smiled and stood. "I'll see if I can talk to our new friends from Atlanta until Ms. Gable's attorney arrives."

"Kick 'em in the nuts for me."

"I just might, Sheriff. The thought crossed my mind."

* * *

_So, okee doke. There's gonna be a bit of legal schtuffs for a minute. Mostly, like, what you just read, plus the first part of 58. Just in case you're looking for hot 'n' heavy biker action._

_I think we're looking at 2, maybe 3 more chapters after this. I can't see that many more. At least 2, tho._

_Also, haha, funny story. In response to the question about possible other SoA/Juice stories or Juice/Olivia stories or maybe any Juice/Olivia AUs...well. I was actually going to put in this note, before the question was asked, something along the lines of, "Is it bad that these two have become my OTP so hard that I want to write AUs about them?" Besides that, there's a lot I left out of this story. Which sounds weird considering its length, but I was focusing a lot on advancing the plot, especially in the early "seasons," so some things got skipped (a big one being Olivia/Kitty, but that's mostly bc I thought ppl wouldn't be interested in my two random OCs while half the club's in jail). I've toyed with the idea of writing some of the missing stuff; mostly Olivia/Juice type stuff; and putting it out as like supplemental reading._

_As for writing more SoA in general: that's a possibility. I can't imagine writing a story with Juice as a main character that didn't include Olivia at this point, but an SoA story that focused on other characters could happen at some point, set within actual SoA canon. Honestly I'm in 100% denial about most of season 6 and all of season 7 (that hasn't even happened yet) and this fic is my new canon._


	58. Cold

Thank you for the reviews for 57. :) A lot of the dialogue in this chapter is meant to serve as a sort of recap of some of the history we're working with. It's been a long ride, and some stuff is bound to slip your mind. :)

* * *

**we danced wild**  
**kicked off our shoes**  
**not a cloud**  
**in the skies to confuse**  
**now the sky is cold**  
**the sea is wide**  
**and there's nothing to be done**  
**'cept reflecting the sun**  
**and scratching the mountainside**  
David Gray, "Coming Down"

"Gloria Lopez. I'm here to see Olivia Gable."

"You her lawyer?" the deputy said.

"That'd be the one. Your Sheriff hasn't tried to chat her up without me, has she?"

"Don't think so." He unlocked the interrogation room. The deputy on guard nodded and slipped past Gloria as she went in.

"Thank you, gentlemen," she said over her shoulder. "I'll want to speak with Sheriff Donnelly as soon as I'm done here."

"Yes, ma'am," the deputy said and shut the door.

Olivia lifted a brow as she studied the woman. She was…well, she was a knockout, like the type of beautiful you just didn't see very often in real life. Early thirties, _maybe_ late twenties. About Olivia's height, gorgeous olive skin, dark eyes, a cascade of dark hair. Perfectly tailored, obviously expensive suit.

Olivia cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter. This woman was her lawyer. She wasn't here to be ogled.

If she noticed Olivia's reaction she ignored it, or else she'd just gotten so used to having that effect on people that she took it in stride. She held out a hand and Olivia shook it. "My name is Gloria Lopez. Mr. Telford said you're in need of my services."

"Olivia Gable. That Mr. Telford never misses a beat," Olivia said with a wry smile.

Gloria dropped her briefcase on the table and flicked it open. Pulled out a pad of paper and a handful of pens. She eyed Olivia with a frown. "First, what happened to your face?"

"Ah. That'd be those fine Southern boys from Atlanta." She tugged down the collar of her shirt to show the bruise forming on her shoulder. "Detective Barnes decided I was resisting arrest."

"Were you?"

"They asked for Audra Flanary. I told him there wasn't anyone there by that name. Since it isn't my legal name anymore—" She broke off with a shrug that made her wince.

Gloria lowered her chin and tried to hide a smile. "I imagine they weren't impressed by your subtlety.

"No. Less than. Still, I didn't try to fight them at all. There was a friend with me, and when Barnes grabbed my shoulder and shoved me into the house, he reacted. Detective Riggs pulled a gun on him, and later hit him in the head with it."

"You're kidding."

She tapped her finger against the melted icepack Sheriff Donnelly had brought and smiled a little. She started at the beginning—from the moment she'd heard the doorbell ring—until they got to the station, outlining everything Barnes and Riggs had done to her, Tig, and Tig's property. "They made some, ah…suggestive…comments on the drive in."

"Sexually suggestive?"

Olivia nodded. "I mean, it was probably just talk? Bullshit between two cops, right? But it felt—creepy." She shuddered a little. "I was glad when we got here, let's say that."

Gloria's mouth thinned and she added another note to the page of them she already had. "I definitely think we need to file a formal complaint against both of them, both for excessive force and for sexual harassment. Do you think your friend—um—Tig?—would be willing to do the same?"

"I don't know. Probably. In general, though, they try to avoid the cops. In any capacity."

"_They_ meaning SAMCRO."

"Well, MCs in general." Olivia leaned forward a little. "Do you represent me, or SAMCRO?"

"You, Ms. Gable."

"But the club is paying your bill."

Gloria hesitated. "Is that going to be a problem?"

Olivia frowned thoughtfully. "I hope not."

"You're my client. Not Mr. Telford or anyone else in the club. I'm here to represent _your_ best interests."

"Okay. Good enough." She hesitated. "There are some things you need to know, but before we get into all of it I need you to call Chibs. There's something I have to ask him, and it can't wait."

"If it's about Mr. Ortiz, Mr. Telford said there's been no change."

She swallowed and her eyes flicked away. "That's—good to know. But, no. It's something else."

Gloria lifted a brow and fished her phone out of her purse. She dialed Chibs' number and handed Olivia the phone without a word.

"Chibs," she said. "It's Ollie."

Gloria couldn't make out his response, but Olivia made a face and tried to interrupt his diatribe.

"I know. Chibs—yeah, I—Chibs, I know! I've been a little distracted, okay? I can't think of everything."

Another pause while she listened.

"Could you please stop yelling at me for five seconds and _listen_?" she finally said. Apparently that got through, because then, "Thank you. Okay, look. Obviously I have a pretty serious problem, but Donnelly has already brought Teddy's name into the conversation. I think Patterson might be looking to deal."

She fiddled with the icepack again.

"I know that. You think I don't want—" She broke off with a quick glance at Gloria. "If something happens to him I've got nothing. No chance at getting out from under this. And I'm sure Tig told you what the cops did to both of us."

She fell quiet except for the occasional murmur of agreement.

"Could you just give me forty-eight hours? Can I ask that much? I know it's a lot. I know you—but you haven't even heard from Jax yet. Forty-eight hours, Chibby. If you don't hear from me by then, do what you have to do."

This time her silence seemed to stretch forever, and Gloria had the feeling she was struggling not to pace. Finally her entire body relaxed and she lifted a hand to brush across her eyes. "Thank you. And thank Bobby for me, too. Oh, and Chibs? How, um. How's Juice?"

Her face fell as he talked. "Yeah," she said, quietly. "Keep an eye on him for me, okay? Not sure—not sure when I'll be back."

A brief pause. "I know. I love you too." She shut the phone before she could start crying, and Gloria studied her carefully.

"I think we have a few things to talk about," she said.

She passed the phone across the table with a tight smile. "No shit."

Gloria flipped to a clean page on her notepad. "Well, let's start at the beginning. Theodore Flanary's murder."

Olivia tilted her head. "That's not quite the beginning. But, here goes."

She told the entire story: how she and TJ met. The details of their marriage. Her escape plan and how she'd come back to kill him (and why). She explained the last eight years of her life, and her constant fear of Teddy and the Atlanta PD. She paused in the timeline to explain exactly who Teddy was, and why Patterson might want him so badly. Then she jumped forward a bit to talk about her time in Charming. She glossed over Juice, mostly because she could hardly say his name without losing it, but she did go into detail about the kidnapping and today's shooting.

"I should have brought a tape recorder," Gloria said as she put down her pen and shook out her cramped hand.

"Probably."

She took a deep breath and glanced through her notes. "Okay. You killed your abusive husband because you were afraid he would do the same thing to his next wife. You've been on the run from his father ever since, and he finally showed up a few days ago. He kidnapped you and Mr. Trager, then later Mr. Ortiz, Mr. Telford, and Mr. Lowman. Both he and his bodyguards attempted to rape you, but you were able to get away." She lifted a brow at Olivia to check in.

"All correct so far."

She made a mark on the page. Then, "Earlier today you and various members of the Sons of Anarchy MC traveled to San Francisco for the express purpose of kidnapping Mr. Flanary. At such time Mr. Ortiz was shot by one of Mr. Flanary's associates, and now Mr. Ortiz is in critical condition and Mr. Flanary is being held prisoner by SAMCRO."

Gloria paused and smoothed a hand over her notepad. "Ms. Gable, this is quite a story."

"Please call me _Olivia_. And, yeah. I know it is." Her mouth quirked. "I have a flash drive stashed in my car with everything I've got on Teddy. It has stuff I didn't give the club. Anything the Feds could possibly want."

"Do you believe there's a genuine risk to your life if you're extradited to Atlanta?"

She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Look for yourself, Ms. Lopez. This is what those cops did to me when they knew they were coming back here. What do you think they'll do when they have me alone, with no one to answer to?"

She tapped her pen against the table. "We could try to run with that. We're already planning to file a complaint—oh, that reminds me." She pulled a small camera from her briefcase. "I should take some pictures to document the injuries."

Olivia was familiar with the drill. She stood against the wall while Gloria snapped several face-forward shots, and a few of each profile. She took some of Olivia's shoulder, where Barnes' fingerprints were clearly visible. She asked Olivia about her wrists, but she shook her head.

"Those are mostly from the kidnapping," she said.

"And your lip?"

"That too."

Gloria nodded and stashed the camera again. "It's obvious that the black eye and injury to your shoulder are much more recent. I don't think the older bruise will be a problem."

They sat back down and Gloria studied her carefully. "Olivia, how much are you prepared to offer the DA and the FBI?"

"Anything they want on Teddy. Nothing at all on the club."

"Hum," she said. "While I'm sure DA Patterson is very interested in Mick Doyle, he hasn't exactly been a nuisance to her county. SAMCRO has, and continues to be. She wants the club."

"Jackson Teller made a deal with her. He took the fall on the KG-9 in exchange for immunity for the club from RICO. She has her scapegoat. Unless she's prepared to _void_ his deal, I don't think she'll be foaming at the mouth for SAMCRO."

Olivia's mouth twisted. "The FBI loves political corruption, yeah?"

"Since nine eleven it's practically their bread and butter."

"Right. So. There's stuff in there about Teddy's political connections. About how he practically bought Atlanta's last two mayors." She flicked her fingers. "Don't know about the current one, of course, but I can't believe it would be much different. State Senators, Congresspeople, hell—the current Governor of Georgia was running for Mayor of Atlanta when I left."

For the first time Gloria seemed to lose her cool a little. She shifted in her seat. Crossed one leg over the other and uncrossed them again. "Did you give the club anything about the politicians?"

"Nope," she said. "That'd be law enforcement exclusive. I didn't even give it to Potter the first time."

The one thing she hadn't told Gloria was about Agent Stephens. She'd said Juice had killed one of Teddy's guards, but she didn't mention anything about the FBI or what Stephens had told them. Obviously they were protected by attorney-client privilege, but she had a feeling the Feds wouldn't be too keen on giving Juice any sort of pass on knowingly killing one of their own. She didn't want to put Gloria in the awkward position of suborning perjury.

"Okay," Gloria said. She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "Okay, so we need to talk to Patterson. Get the FBI in here and enter into proffer right away."

"Proffer?" Olivia said, her brow scrunched.

"It's a state of immunity during a plea bargain. Basically you tell the DA everything you know and they decide if it's good enough to warrant the deal you want to make. They can't use anything you give them during proffer against you—or anyone else."

"All right. I guess that's fair enough."

"First tell me exactly what you want. Your ideal scenario."

Olivia shrugged a little, with just her good shoulder. "I give them everything I have on Teddy and the man himself in exchange for immunity for TJ's murder and WITSEC. Also immunity for the club for any crimes they might have committed in relation to Teddy—kidnapping him, for example. Or Juice killing the guard."

Gloria hesitated. "Olivia, what exactly is your relationship to Mr. Ortiz? I need to be clear."

"Ah. Well, he's my—um. We…" She trailed off with a scowl. Why was it so hard for her to say? She cleared her throat. "We're...engaged. He's my fiancé."

"I see. You're quite serious then. Do you want him to go into protection with you?"

Her mouth fell open. She closed it again. Of course she did. But…

"He's in a coma, Ms. Lopez. I can't exactly ask him. And I can hardly turn his entire life upside down _without_ asking him."

Gloria's expression was compassionate. "Do you think he would want to go?"

He'd said he wanted to leave Charming. He'd said he wanted to make a life with her. But that was a completely different story than witness protection.

"Legally speaking, would I even have a right to speak for him?"

"Do you have power of attorney?"

"No," she said. "I have no idea who does, or if he ever appointed anyone."

"The person who has power of attorney—if such a person even exists—could make the decision on Mr. Ortiz's behalf."

Who would Juice have chosen? Chibs, maybe. Gemma? Oh God. She shuddered at the thought. Well, on the other hand, Gemma might jump at the chance to get Juice out of her hair for good.

Olivia gave a slow shake of her head. "I can try to find out. The hospital would know. But it—I just can't—it's not fair to him. If he could choose, fine. It's his life and his decision. But to decide _for_ him? That's not right. He has a life here. Family. I mean, can you imagine? You get shot, fall into a coma, and then when you wake up you have a new name in a new city and a completely new _life_? How awful."

Gloria's mouth quirked in rueful appreciation. "I can see why you're hesitant. It's possible he could wake up before the deal is completed, in which case you could ask him and the point would be moot."

"Of course," Olivia said. "That's the ideal, isn't it? And we are talking ideals."

A brief silence fell.

"How will the club feel about turning Teddy over to the police?" Gloria said, sensing that a change of subject was in order.

"That will be…tricky, to say the least." She bit her lip and flinched. "I have an idea, though. I'll need to see Jax Teller before I sign anything. I—also need to find out how much he's comfortable with me telling the cops."

"Olivia, now is not the time to hold back. If you're going into WITSEC anyway, they won't be able to find you for any sort of revenge or retribution."

"I know that. It's the principle of the thing. And, besides, if I leave Juice here…well. I can't make life more difficult for him by turning rat."

Gloria clearly wasn't happy, but she conceded the point with a small nod. "You're the client," she said. She packed her (now almost full) notepad and bundle of pens back in her briefcase and snapped it shut. "I'll take this to Patterson, and then I'll get the flash drive from your car. Where is it?"

"In a compartment in the driver's side door. With the window rolled all the way up, twist the handle like you're trying to roll it higher. A little drawer will pop out."

"Okay. Keys?"

"Teddy took them. There's an extra key in my house on the little hook by the door. Oh! Also you'll see a box of strawberry Twizzlers. Grab that too."

She frowned. "If you need me to bring you—"

"It has Teddy's DNA. I thought they might like that."

"Oh." She let out a short laugh. "God they're going to _shit_ themselves."

"Let's hope," Olivia said. "Otherwise I'm fucked."

* * *

It took a few hours—the FBI wasn't terribly happy with Patterson since Tara had bailed on her immunity deal—but eventually she got an agent from the Stockton satellite office to come to Charming. She dangled Mick Doyle's name and was surprised by the reaction: they seemed to hesitate, as though they knew something she didn't.

When the agent got there—Michael Carmichael, a name which made them wonder if his parents had lost a bet—he cornered Donnelly and Patterson in Donnelly's office and demanded they turn over anything they had.

Patterson wasn't an easy woman to intimidate. She crossed her arms and tilted her head, eyes narrowing, as she studied the small man in the standard dark FBI suit. "Agent Carmichael, please. We need to speak to Ms. Gable. Her lawyer has agreed to proffer, but we need the FBI on board first."

He scowled and ran a fleshy hand over his thinning hair. "I can't make any agreements until I know what's on the table."

"You know that isn't possible. She isn't going to expose herself like that." She frowned. "Is there something you would like to tell me, Agent Carmichael? Because I'd think the FBI would be very excited to hear whatever Ms. Gable has to say. Mick Doyle is high on nearly every Most Wanted list in the world."

He paced away. "We already know Doyle's real identity."

"Hm," Patterson said. "Then it might interest you to know that this woman was married to his son. And is currently under arrest for her husband's murder."

That got his attention. He whipped around, face suddenly bright and avid. "Is she Lincoln Potter's CI?"

"I don't know," she said, her voice smooth through the lie. "All I know is she wants to talk, and according to her attorney it's worth our time to listen." She paused. "Do I need to call someone from Sacramento?"

He drew himself to his full height and glared at her. "That won't be necessary. If her attorney says she's ready for proffer then let's get on with it."

Patterson and Donnelly exchanged exasperated looks behind his back as he slammed the door open and marched across the squad room.

"What a prick," Donnelly muttered.

Patterson lifted her brows in agreement before they followed him.

Olivia raised her head as the door opened. She pegged the guy in front as Fed immediately, and she already knew Donnelly. That left DA Patterson. Donnelly gestured for a deputy to bring some extra chairs, and then she made introductions.

"Olivia, this is Agent Carmichael of the FBI and the San Joaquin County DA, Tyne Patterson. Everyone, this is Olivia Gable and her attorney Gloria Lopez."

They shook hands all around (though Carmichael definitely made a face before he shook Olivia's), and by the time they were done the seats had arrived. Everyone got settled and Patterson offered Olivia a reassuring smile.

"Ms. Gable, Ms. Lopez tells us you have information you'd like to share about Mick Doyle, AKA Theodore Flanary, in exchange for WITSEC and immunity on the charge of killing his son, Theodore, Jr."

Her gaze flicked to Gloria, who gave a tiny nod. "That's right," Olivia said.

Gloria lifted a hand to stop her before she could say anything else. "We understand that as of now we are in a state of proffer, and anything my client says cannot be used against her either by San Joaquin County, the state of California, or the Federal Government."

"Agreed," Patterson said. "Proffer applies."

"Agreed," said Carmichael.

"Or anyone else, right?" Olivia said.

"That's right," Patterson said. "We need to make sure your information is worth what you're asking."

Olivia choked on a little laugh. Gloria pulled the Twizzlers box from her briefcase and slid it across the table.

Patterson gave them both a quizzical look.

"To start with, that's Mick Doyle's DNA. Teddy Flanary's DNA. There's a half eaten piece of candy in there, and guess who was chomping on it earlier today?"

Carmichael leaned forward. "You've been in contact with Flanary today?"

She eyed him. She didn't like the look of him, and she'd rather deal with Patterson. "I know exactly where Teddy is. I can put him in your hands if you give me what I want."

"How do we have any proof you're not lying through your teeth?" Carmichael said.

Olivia flicked her eyes toward Gloria. The lawyer hit a button on the laptop she had open in front of her and turned it around. Several photos flickered across the screen, including the one she'd shown Lincoln Potter almost seven months ago. There were also pictures of Teddy shaking hands with over a dozen well-known politicians, and just as Carmichael started to look really excited, Gloria closed the lid.

"That was a preview," she said with a smile. "Photographs are just the beginning. We have property deeds. Personal correspondences. Records of political donations. Recordings of phone calls and conversations."

Carmichael looked like he was about to come in his pants. "How the fuck do you have all that?"

"I think we should start at the beginning," Patterson said before Olivia could answer. "Tell us what you know, starting from your first meeting with Flanary up until—well, today, I supposed."

"This is gonna take a while."

"None of us have anywhere else to be," Patterson said.

Olivia leaned back in her chair and took a sip of water. She gave them a long, detailed account of everything she'd told Gloria, up until the point she moved to Charming. There she stopped and cast a look toward her lawyer.

"Ms. Gable isn't prepared to offer any incriminating information on the Sons of Anarchy MC at this time."

"It seems as though SAMCRO is directly related to recent activity with Teddy Flanary," Patterson said.

"Especially since Juice Ortiz is listed in critical condition at the medical center in Concord—and this morning there was an incident in Teddy Flanary's suite at the Four Seasons," Donnelly added.

"Not to mention our dead Federal Agent in that warehouse."

"What?" Patterson said. She clearly didn't appreciate being sideswiped, and while she knew about the incident at the warehouse, she'd had no idea a Fed was involved.

Carmichael sighed. "We already knew Mick Doyle's identity, as I told you. For the past several months the FBI has been investing him with keen interest. We had an agent in his organization."

He paused and Olivia waited him out. "We were aware that Flanary's men had picked up Ms. Gable and Alex Trager, a member of the MC, and that they later apprehended Filip Telford, Happy Lowman, and Juan Carlos Ortiz."

Olivia lifted a brow and let the anger she'd taken out on Stephens bubble to the surface. "You knew? And you didn't do anything?"

"It's an extensive investigation—"

"Agent Carmichael," Patterson said, all icy politeness, "perhaps now would be a good time to shut up. Before you make things worse."

His jaw snapped shut and he looked sulky.

Donnelly leaned forward. "Trager told me the two of you had gone off to Yellowstone for the night."

"Did you think he was going to tell you we'd been kidnapped? Especially considering what we had to do to get out of it?"

"Let's talk about that, Ms. Gable," Patterson said. "What exactly happened?"

She took a deep breath and pressed her hands against the table. "Day before yesterday Teddy and a bunch of his guys broke into the ice cream shop. They drugged and black-bagged Tig and me, and cut Chucky Marstein's wrist."

"Who?" said Carmichael, earning himself a glare from Patterson.

"Our office manager at the garage where I work," Olivia said. "The garage the club owns. He cut Chucky's wrist to be like mine and then left him there to bleed to death."

"Luckily some of the shop owners on that street still care enough to call 911 when armed commandos come busting in windows," Donnelly said.

"Luckily." Olivia looked down at her splayed fingers. "Teddy's been sending me these postcards the last few weeks. He left a photograph at my house the night before the kidnapping, and he left another one after the attack on Eli Roosevelt and Tara Knowles."

She gestured and Gloria pulled a baggie from her briefcase and dumped the contents on the table.

Donnelly stared at her, the postcards momentarily unimportant. "You're saying Flanary killed Sheriff Roosevelt?"

"No, of course not. He doesn't do his own dirty work."

"Hired assassins killed Eli, but they missed when they shot Dr. Knowles?" Patterson said.

Olivia shifted in her chair. Patterson smiled at her and reached into the folder she held. She spread several photos across the table.

"I'm curious if you know anything about these photographs, Ms. Gable."

"I've never seen them before," she said after a brief study.

Patterson tapped one of the pictures with a well-manicured nail. "Is that Jackson Teller and Tara Knowles' home?"

"Yeah," Olivia said. "How did you get these?"

Patterson lifted a brow. "You don't know?"

"Would I have asked if I knew?"

She shook her head. "Why was Gemma Teller-Morrow holding a gun in this house at the precise time Dr. Knowles was attacked?"

"I have no idea. You would have to ask Gemma."

"Are you seeking immunity for her as well?"

Olivia met Patterson's eyes. A look of understanding passed between them. "No," she said, simply.

Patterson inclined her head. "Fair enough."

"You don't have any real proof these cards are from Flanary," Carmichael said as he studied them.

"They're all from the Atlanta area," Donnelly said, "and he left the photograph at the ice cream shop." She flipped a couple of them over with the tip of her pen. "Messages use similar phrasing. I'm sure you've got someone at the FBI who could link all of these together."

"What happened at the warehouse, Ms. Gable?" Patterson said.

"I don't know how long Tig and I had been there when the guards brought in Chibs and Happy. They grabbed me and took me into an office. Juice was there, tied to a chair, and he'd been worked over."

She took a sip of water and Gloria rested a comforting hand on her arm. "Do you need a break, Olivia?" she said, softly.

"No. I need to finish it or I might not be able to."

She took a long breath and told them what Teddy had tried to do, and how she had stopped him, and then about the assignment he'd given the guards.

"When we got back to the main room I played along. Made the one guard—um, O'Rourke, I think—believe I was…well. Into it. Then when he was distracted, I got the knife off his belt and stabbed him in the leg. Pulled his gun on the other one—Stephens—and got him to untie the guys."

"Stephens," Carmichael said. "That was our man."

"Hhmm," Olivia said, her eyes cold. "Your _man_ sure didn't seem keen on saving me from potential gang-rape, Agent."

He flushed and looked away.

"We had no idea he was a Fed. He didn't identify himself."

"The other guard's throat was cut," Carmichael said. "Which one of those animals did that?"

Olivia's smile was cool and cutting. "Your agent did that, sir. I ordered him to tie a tourniquet around O'Rourke's leg and leave the knife in place. Instead he pulled it out and sliced his throat open."

"That's bullshit," he said with a snort.

She lifted her hands with a shrug. "Believe it or don't. It's the truth."

"Who killed Agent Stephens?" Patterson said before Carmichael could jump in.

"Um."

"Olivia," Gloria said.

"The proffer covers them, too, right? You're not going to go arrest someone because I say I saw them do something?"

"No, Ms. Gable. Anyone you mention right now is safe from prosecution, just like you are."

Her jaw worked a moment. Finally, "Juice shot him. We had no idea who he was. I don't think he would've killed him if he'd known. All he saw was some guard of Teddy's who'd stood outside that room while Teddy tried to—and then stood by and watched while his buddy—"

She broke off and shook her head. "We didn't know."

"All right," Patterson said. "If Agent Stephens didn't identify himself then that's on him." She cut her eyes at Carmichael. "I'm sorry about your man, but if he were really willing to stand by while this woman was brutalized, I find it hard to get terribly worked up about it."

"He had a cover to protect."

"What's the point of being a good guy if you let the bad guys get away with nasty shit right under your nose?" Donnelly said. "I get you had your precious case, but come on. That's ridiculous."

Patterson cleared her throat. "Were there other guards?"

"Four more," Carmichael said. "Six in total."

"I don't know what happened to the other four. I stayed inside until the guys called the all-clear."

"What happened today in San Francisco?" Carmichael said.

"Teddy always stays at the Four Seasons. I told the guys where to find him. Juice was shot. They took Teddy. As of a few hours ago he was still alive. That's all I know."

"We need him to _stay_ alive, Ms. Gable," Patterson said. "He's not much good to us dead."

"The club is giving me forty-eight hours." She tapped her finger against the tabletop. "It's imperative I speak to Jax Teller before I sign any deal. The club can't think I ratted, and I need to convince him to turn Teddy over."

"Where are they holding him?" Carmichael said.

She cast him a scornful look. "I'm not telling you that, proffer or not. And since they found out I've been arrested, they probably moved him. Just in case."

"Do you really believe you can convince Jackson Teller to give up the man who ordered the hit on his wife?"

"I don't know," she said. "All I can do is try. Are you saying if I can't get you Teddy the deal is off? Completely?"

Patterson and Carmichael exchanged glances.

"We want Flanary, but your information would give us his organization. But if this MC is holding him hostage and we don't get him, we will go after them with the full force of the federal government," Carmichael said.

"Not if she doesn't mention their involvement outside of proffer," Patterson said.

Olivia glanced at her in surprise.

"And you haven't, Ms. Gable, have you? SAMCRO was discussed here, in this room, and we won't discuss them again unless we have a deal on the table and have once more evoked proffer."

Why was Patterson helping the club? She hated SAMCRO. She must really want this deal to happen. To take down Teddy and his crew. It would be a huge coup for her, though the case would be taken away and given to a US Attorney for prosecution. But still. It would be her bust. Her fish at the end of her line.

"Would I still be able to get WITSEC and immunity for TJ if we lost Teddy?" Olivia said.

"That shouldn't be a problem," said Carmichael.

"What about immunity for anyone else involved? Juice for killing the guard. Things like that."

"We could discuss it. If everyone there is willing to swear under oath that Agent Stephens didn't identify himself as a Federal Agent."

"I think they would be willing to do that," she said. Honestly they would jump at any chance to lie to the cops. Happy would do it with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.

"Are you seeking WITSEC for Mr. Ortiz as well?" Patterson said. "I understand you two are close."

Olivia and Gloria shared a look. "Juice is in a coma. I won't make the decision for him. But if he wakes up in time…" She trailed off with a shrug.

"We can give you twenty-four hours," Carmichael said. "After that the deal is off the table."

She lowered her head. Dr. Bryant had given Juice twenty-four hours nearly…eight hours ago. If he wasn't awake by the time Carmichael's clock ran out, it was a good bet he—

She couldn't finish the thought. Instead she simply nodded.

"We'll need to see Mr. Teller as soon as possible," Gloria said. "Olivia won't sign anything or make any official statement until she's spoken with him."

"I'll make the arrangements. We can go first thing tomorrow. Is there anything else?"

"I want to see Juice. I mean. Of course if he wakes up, but…I want to see him either way. I want to spend some time with him," she said, her voice going thick halfway through. She swiped angrily at the tears in her eyes and Gloria passed her a tissue under the table.

"I don't get it. You two bangin' or something?" Carmichael said.

Olivia snarled at him, fury replacing sorrow in an instant. Gloria pressed a hand to her shoulder. "Ms. Gable and Mr. Ortiz are engaged. She is understandably distraught at his condition, and the added pressure of having to make such an enormous decision is wearing on her. That, coupled with her recent ordeal and the way she was treated by the detectives from Atlanta—I think some latitude is warranted.

"As you can imagine, Ms. Gable suffers from fairly severe PTSD. I will be watching my client _closely_ for any undue stress or trauma this process puts on her. And I'm not afraid to file a complaint against _anyone_ for even the slightest breach in protocol," she said with a pointed look at Carmichael. She bared her teeth in a sharp smile. "The detectives from Atlanta will be hearing from their Internal Affairs division very shortly."

The song "Baracuda" by Heart popped into Olivia's head and she pressed a hand to her mouth to smother a smirk.

"Sheriff Donnelly, let's get Ms. Gable something to eat, and let's ensure that Detectives Riggs and Barnes don't approach her again while she's enjoying our hospitality," Patterson said after a quiet moment.

"I'll have a couple of my deputies keep an eye on them," she said.

"I can take her to a safe house," Carmichael said.

Patterson lifted a brow. It seemed like Agent Carmichael had been given a great deal more leeway than he'd led her to believe.

"Is that really necessary?" Olivia said. "I'll be completely cut off there. If something happened to Juice overnight—" She broke off, momentarily overcome.

"I think my client would prefer to stay here, so that if there's an emergency someone can contact her," Gloria said.

"Understandable," Patterson said. She wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of stashing Olivia in an FBI safe house until the deal was inked. "All right." She tilted her head at Carmichael. "Get something on paper for Ms. Lopez to peruse and I'll get you in to see Jax Teller first thing tomorrow morning."

"Great," Olivia said. She dredged a smile from somewhere and hoped they couldn't see how terrified she was.

* * *

_Argh. Well it looks like we'll be rolling into at least ch61 after all, bc an important scene that was supposed to be here had to be pushed to 59 bc this one was already almost 6k words long. I've just written that scene, and it's 3k words long...and I have at least two other important scenes plotted out for 59! So yeah. I thought I would be struggling to meet my self-imposed word count requirements for the last few chapters, but apparently not._

_*sniffle* almost over, you guys. I'm both elated and sad._


	59. All I've Ever Wanted

Um. I hope you guys like this chapter because it was really hard work and I almost had to put my computer in the freezer when I finished it. (That's, uh. That's a _Friends_ reference. I'm not really going to put my computer in the freezer.)

* * *

**i can only say these things to you while you're sleeping.**  
**i hear the hum from the wires and the sounds of the morning creeping**  
**i lie awake and pretend you can hear me...**

**and i could tell you that you're all i've ever wanted, dear**  
**i could utter every word you'd ever hope to hear**  
**i shudder when i think that i might not be here forever, forever, forever**  
The Airborne Toxic Event, "All I Ever Wanted"

Donnelly came to collect Olivia at nine thirty the next morning. Patterson had arranged Olivia's meeting with Jax for ten. Gloria had been by earlier with a change of clothes, and Olivia's first question had been about Juice.

Gloria had shaken her head, her smile sad. "No change. I'm sorry."

It was what she'd expected, but it still hit her hard. Now, in the Sheriff's department cruiser with Donnelly—apparently she didn't trust any of her deputies with the task of driving Olivia around—she stared out the window with a deep frown.

It was a week until Juice's birthday, and she'd had plans for them. It was the first birthday that they'd actually spend together, since he'd had his last two inside. Plus it was thirty-five, which was a big number. Olivia hated her own birthday, but she loved celebrating other people's. A sort of vicarious thrill, she supposed.

Maybe they'd still get to celebrate. Maybe he would wake up and want to go with her and…

She remembered the thirtieth birthday party Gemma had thrown for her. She'd been in Charming very close to a year, but the only person who'd known why she hated her birthday so much—especially that one, marking the point when she suddenly had had a longer life without her mother than with her—was Juice. It had actually turned out to be a nice distraction. She'd enjoyed the party, and Gemma had worked so hard, and.… Now she couldn't think of it without a ping of sadness. Opie. Kozik. Miles. Phil. V-Lin. Hell, even Gemma herself. And Tara.

The memory of that party and all the people who'd been there who _weren't_ anymore—and how happy they'd all been, Tara and Gemma laughing as they cut the cake, everyone singing a truly terrible rendition of "Happy Birthday"—made her realize just how right her decision to leave Charming was. There would never be another birthday like that. There would never be cake and tequila and carefree good times. She hated that all of her best memories with the club didn't include Juice, but honestly when everyone had been inside it had been…peaceful. Quiet. Happy, despite missing the guys who were away.

Tig seemed to think it could be that way again. The case he'd tried to make last night, that things would settle down now that they were out of guns and drugs, would've been more compelling if she didn't know about the trouble brewing with the Mayans and the Byz Lats. If she didn't know how Jax would react to finding out about Gemma. If she didn't know the effect Jax' actions were bound to have on the club.

She sighed and sat up a little straighter. Donnelly cut her a look. Olivia was in the cruiser's passenger seat mostly because Donnelly had insisted. She said otherwise she would feel like a chauffeur, and after yesterday she doubted Olivia really wanted to see the backseat of a police car again anyway. Olivia recognized it as the sign of trust it was, and she appreciated it.

"Do you think we could go by St. Thomas after this?" Olivia said.

"Do you need a doctor?"

She smiled a little. "I want to see Tara. Say goodbye. It wouldn't feel right if I left without doing that."

She hesitated, but after a moment she nodded. "That shouldn't be a problem. I guess after that it's on to Concord?"

Olivia gave a bitter little shrug. "A day full of prisons and hospitals. Such is my life."

"You're doing the right thing."

"You probably wish I'd roll on the club, too."

"It'd be nice. But I get why you aren't. If you had to leave Juice behind it wouldn't be any good for him that his old lady turned rat."

Olivia shifted in her seat and adjusted the shoulder belt. "That, and…I care about them. I've always said I don't give a fuck about the club, and while it's true that SAMCRO as an entity can go to hell, the people in it are sort of—they're my family."

It was a staggering admission for her, and it had hit her last night as she'd sat sleepless and wide-eyed in her cell. They _were_ her family, and the idea of selling them out to save her own skin was repellent. She couldn't bear the thought of Chibs' disappointment. Tig's sense of betrayal. Bobby's resigned fury.

Donnelly made a non-committal sort of noise. Then, "We're almost there. Any idea what you're going to say to Teller?"

She knew exactly what she was going to say. She only had one card left to play, one thing that would get Jax' attention and maybe get her what she needed. She wasn't entirely thrilled about it, but fuck it.

"A few ideas, yeah," Olivia murmured. "One or two."

* * *

At the prison Olivia was searched, but since she was already in Donnelly's custody it was perfunctory at best. She was surprised when they were taken to the warden's office rather than the visiting room. Olivia was parked outside while Donnelly went in to speak to him, and a few minutes later she emerged and gestured Olivia inside.

"Ms. Gable," the warden said. "This is highly unusual. I normally might not allow a visitation of this type, but DA Patterson _and_ the director of the Sacramento field office of the FBI were quite insistent. This is my prison…but sometimes one has to play nice."

Olivia smiled. "I appreciate the favor, sir."

"You have fifteen minutes. Mr. Teller will be in restraints the entire time. Do you have any questions?"

"Will we be alone?"

The warden looked deeply uncomfortable, but finally he nodded. "This office is under surveillance, however, so we will know if you're in any distress."

_Or if I say anything worth hearing_, she thought. Luckily she'd come prepared for that.

The warden hit a button on his phone, and the door swung open. Jax stood in his orange jumpsuit flanked by two guards. His wrists and ankles were chained together, and the chains connected so that he could barely raise his hands above waist level. When he saw her his eyes widened, just a fraction. They were hard and dark, barely recognizable as the man she knew, and for a moment she was afraid.

Then he lowered his head and shuffled into the room. There was a ring bolted into the floor, and the guards secured him to that. The warden gave them both steely-eyed glares, and with a jerk of his head marched out. The other three followed him, Donnelly more reluctantly and with a last, long look back at Olivia.

A short silence fell once they were gone.

"That the new Sheriff?" Jax said. His voice was rougher than ever, rusty almost, and it sent a shiver through her.

"Yes," she said.

He shifted. His chains rattled. "What do you want, Ollie?"

"I need a favor. A very large favor that you aren't going to want to grant me."

His mouth curled in a disdainful sort of smirk. "I'm not exactly in a generous or forgiving mood these days, darlin', so if you're here to beg me to forgive some fuck-up of your old man's _again_, you can forget it."

She lifted a brow. Her expression was steady even as her heart pounded. "Juice is lying comatose in a hospital bed, suffering from injuries he sustained on behalf of your club."

"My _wife_ is in a fucking _hospital bed_ suffering from injuries she sustained because of _you_," he said.

She flinched away from the venom in his voice and the hatred on his face. "That's not entirely true, Jackson."

"You didn't bring Teddy Flanary to this town? He didn't target Tara because of _you_? Because she called you _sister_? Fuck that, Ollie. I'm not fuckin' stupid."

"Teddy's men incited the incident, it's true. They killed Eli." She leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. "They did not shoot Tara."

"Bullshit."

She swallowed around the thickness in her throat. "They didn't, Jax. I have proof. It's why I'm here." Her bright green eyes caught his stormy blue ones, caught and held and neither of them blinked. "I will give you the shooter's name if you give me Teddy Flanary."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he said.

"They picked me up for TJ." She gestured to her face, the impressive black eye and the other bruise on her jaw. She pulled her blouse aside to let him get a look at the mark on her shoulder. "This is what the cops did when they arrested me. They also pistol-whipped Tig and shot out the tires on his bike."

He blinked. He struggled to appear unimpressed, but she could tell he was disconcerted. He was used to being rough-handled by the cops—he was a motorcycle thug, after all—but Olivia was a woman. Small. Fragile-looking. The hand mark on her shoulder was big, and it gave him an idea of the size of the guy who'd done it.

"You're lookin' to make a deal," he said.

"I am. I need Teddy, Jax. They'll give me the immunity I want without him, but…they won't make the deal unless I tell them how the club was involved in his kidnapping, and they won't grant the club immunity without Teddy himself."

He surged forward, but she didn't move. His chains caught. He leaned against them and glared at her, his expression wolfish and feral. "You gonna rat out my club, Olivia? And you want me to fuckin' help you?"

"Listen to what I'm saying, Jax. They want to know how deeply the club was involved in what happened in San Francisco yesterday. They want to know who killed Teddy's guards at that warehouse. One of them was a Fed. I won't tell them without immunity for the club, complete and total immunity. Do you understand?"

He glared at her. If looks could kill she'd be a smoking hole in the upholstery of her chair. Finally his head jerked in a nod.

"If I don't tell them, I'm off to Atlanta. I know my life probably doesn't mean a whole lot to you right now, and I get that. I'm okay with it." Her head tilted. Her eyes stayed steady on his. "I will tell them only as much as you and the club okay for me to say. No more. But the entire point is moot without Teddy Flanary."

Her voice lowered further, to a whisper soft as a caress. "If Teddy dies, his organization lives on. A lieutenant steps up to take his place and hardly anything changes." She paused. "But if he goes to jail. If I make this deal. The Feds will burn down every single branch and twig of his operation until there isn't a goddamn thing left. There will be _nothing_. Teddy will be alive to see it, his entire life's work gone. And then. Once he's convicted."

She leaned back and spread her hands in a shrug. "Prison is a dangerous place, as you well know. One of his interests is a fairly substantial child pornography ring. Another is human trafficking—little girls and little boys. That information in the right ear…"

She could tell the idea intrigued him. "Death is fleeting, Jackson. An instant of terror. A sharp twinge of pain. Then _poof_. Over. No more pain, ever. Now, life? _Life_ is revenge. Life is hurt and fear and fury and the knowledge of your own impotence as everything you worked for is dismantled piece by piece. And when death finally does come, you're a broken and bitter old man who will be buried in an unmarked grave in a prison cemetery and whose name will be forgotten."

His jaw worked. The chains rattled as he flexed his fingers. He recognized himself in her speech, and he was sure it wasn't an accident. But she was right: dying was easy. Living was the hardest goddamn thing there was. "Teddy's guys really didn't shoot Tara?" he said.

"No, Jax." She lifted up in the chair to pull something from her back pocket. It was a folded photograph. "You promise me Teddy, alive and…well, relatively unharmed, and this is yours. It's a picture of your house the day Tara was shot. A picture of the shooter, weapon in hand."

Olivia hesitated. Her expression clouded with doubt and she looked away. "Jax, before—I need to warn you. This might not be knowledge you want. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss."

"Whoever hurt Tara needs to pay," he ground out. He sounded like he was chewing broken glass.

She glanced at him again. Her face was softer now, her eyes warmer. "I love Tara, too, Jax. I know it's nothing like the way you feel about her, and I know I can't really understand what it's like to love someone the way you love her—but I do know what it's like to lose. I know what it's like to want revenge at all costs." She waved the picture. "Once you know, you can't undo it. You can't forget. All of what I described about Teddy can still happen without this."

"Who are you protecting?" he said, his face tight and suspicious.

"You, Jax. I'm protecting you."

He snorted and slumped back in the chair. "Our time's almost up, Ollie. I'll give you Teddy, but not unless you give me a name. And I wanna see that picture."

She sighed and scrubbed at her forehead. Muttered a low curse when she hit the bruises around her eye. Was she really prepared to do this? When she'd gotten the photo from Gloria this morning she had been. Now…it would mean Gemma's death. It would tear the club apart. And what if he found out about Juice's involvement? God what a risk. And she wouldn't even be here if—

She cut that train of thought off. Unfolded the photograph and held it up for him to see. His eyes narrowed and he tilted forward. She watched his face as recognition clicked: he went from hard and broken to empty and shattered. It was like a switch had been flipped inside him and the light left his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jackson," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"This is a lie." He didn't even raise his voice. "This is a fuckin' lie, Olivia!"

"Teddy left these pictures for me. The first part shows his men breaking in. They tied up Eli and Tara and shot Eli. They were about to kill Tara when Gemma pulled up. She was out of her mind, by the look of things. She ran inside and…" She hitched a shoulder. "I can only guess she missed because she was so upset. Or maybe at the last minute she found a bit of sanity and pulled the shot. I don't know."

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" he rasped.

"I don't know," she said again. "I honestly don't."

He was doubled over like in physical pain and in that moment she hated herself. Gemma might deserve what was coming to her, but Jax didn't deserve _this_. He was a manipulative, murderous, lying shit, but…no one deserved anything like the agony he was in right now.

She hoped Patterson would move on Gemma before Jax had a chance to do anything. It would at least give him some breathing room. Some time to process all of it.

He lifted his head and their eyes met again. "I give you Teddy, you take WITSEC."

It wasn't exactly a question, but she answered anyway. "That's the plan."

"You takin' Juice with you?"

"If he wakes up and wants to go."

His mouth curved in a vicious little smile. "I'll keep your old man safe, Olivia. I'll keep him close. He can be my new right hand."

She felt color flood her cheeks and she lifted her chin. He knew Juice in the club was the last thing she wanted, but he also knew Juice wasn't as sure about patching out as he'd made it sound. If Juice did recover and Olivia was gone, he'd be lost and desperate. Jax had just promised to exploit that to the utmost. To bleed Juice until he was dry, all the while making him feel like he mattered, or that he one day would.

She had a feeling that would be his strategy even if he found out Juice had covered for Gemma. Living, after all, was the hardest thing of all.

"Do what you think you have to do, Jackson," she said, softly. "But remember that I did warn you. I told you nothing good would come of it."

"How the fuck was I supposed to know—?" He cut himself off and rattled his chains in frustration. "Goddammit. God _fucking_ dammit!"

She waited him out as he grappled with it. Finally he fell still, his elbows on his knees and his head hanging down like an exhausted dog's.

"I'll call my lawyer when I get out of here," he said in an old, tired voice. "You can have Teddy. Tell them about the warehouse and the kidnapping."

He lifted his head and stared at her. "Tell them what Gemma did to Tara. Show them that picture."

Her mouth fell open. "Jax, are you—?"

"_Tell them!_" he barked. "If they get to her first, great. If they don't?" His mouth twisted. "Too bad."

No one was better at deflecting guilt and blame than Jackson Teller—except maybe for Clay Morrow, and with his death the crown had passed. She nodded. "Sure, Jax. Whatever you say," she murmured.

* * *

Later, at St. Thomas, she told Tara her plan and they cried together. She didn't tell her about Gemma. As she was leaving Unser came in with the boys, and Olivia took a little while longer to play with them. The sound of Thomas' giggles were still ringing in her ears even when Donnelly pulled into a parking spot at the medical center in Concord.

They had been silent the whole way, each woman lost in her own thoughts, and as Donnelly cut the engine she took a moment to study her.

"I hate SAMCRO," Donnelly said.

Olivia glanced at her.

She lifted a hand to forestall anything Olivia might be about to say. "I hate SAMCRO, and my goal as Sheriff in this county is to get rid of them." She looked down. Squeezed the steering wheel. "I didn't realize there was a side to a motorcycle club other than drugs and guns and violence."

"I never wanted to be an old lady," Olivia said after a moment. "I've been protected by one MC or another since I got away from TJ, but I always stayed away from the guys. It's different here. Everything's different. The violence is bigger, but so is…this is going to sound _really_ cheesy…but so is the love. It's overwhelming. All of it."

"Better you than me," Donnelly said.

Olivia's mouth twisted. Donnelly's radio crackled and she called in an affirmative. Two more SanWa County cruisers pulled in on either side of them. They got out of the car and Donnelly motioned one of the deputies closer.

"Stay with Ms. Gable. You can wait in the hall when she's with her fiancé."

He nodded and Donnelly led the way inside. The ranks had thinned a bit—Gemma, Bobby, and Quinn were still there, but Chibs was with Juice and everyone else had gone back to Charming. They all stood in surprise at the sight of Olivia and her entourage, but as Donnelly approached Gemma, Bobby and Quinn both took a step back.

"Gemma Teller-Morrow, you're under arrest for the attempted murder of Tara Knowles and accessory after the fact for the murder of Sheriff Eli Roosevelt."

Gemma's eyes went huge. She stared around her, momentarily uncomprehending, until her gaze caught on Olivia. "You traitorous little bitch," she said.

"Secrets can't stay buried forever, Gemma. Maybe you should've thought of that before you tried to kill Tara." She touched the deputy's arm. "Can we go, please? I don't need to see this."

"Bobby!" Gemma cried as Donnelly cuffed her and started to read her rights. "That gash ratted me out to the fuckin' cops!"

Bobby shook his head like a sad hound dog. "No, Gem. Ollie didn't rat. You need to hush now before you say somethin' that'll get you in trouble."

The sound of Gemma's protests faded as Olivia and the deputy went through the automatic doors and they closed behind them. She paused a moment and pressed a hand to her mouth. She had no idea if she'd done the right thing. With any of it: sending the pictures to Patterson, covering for Gemma, telling Jax the truth. It felt dirty. Sordid and disloyal.

She closed her eyes and thought about Tara. The huge wound on the side of her head. The fear in her eyes. The feel of her arms around Olivia as they'd hugged goodbye. She shivered a little and pulled herself together. She had a long road ahead and she didn't have time to fall apart now.

She peeked in Juice's room and saw Chibs sitting by the bed. His head was bowed, his forehead resting on his tented fingertips. She thought maybe he was praying. For Juice? For Gemma? For all of them?

The door drifted shut behind her and she cleared her throat, softly. Chibs jerked and took a moment to surreptitiously wipe his eyes before he looked back at her. His face moved in a genuine smile.

"Ollie girl," he said and rose to his feet. He held his arms open and she wrapped hers around his waist. He ran a hand over her hair and made soothing noises as she fought back tears. "How long do you have?" he said.

"Mostly depends on you."

He sighed and pulled away. Fished a bit of paper from his cut and handed it to her. "This address, six o'clock. Flanary will be there, alive, and wrapped pretty as a Christmas Day package for you."

She nodded and tucked it away. "Then I have until six o'clock."

"Ach, lass," he murmured. "I suppose it's for real this time, aye?"

"Looks like it," she said with a rueful little grimace.

"And what about our Juicy here?"

"I guess that's up to him, the stubborn ass. Unless he wakes up—" She broke off and shrugged.

His eyes were shrewd on hers. "Did you tell Jackie about his role in it?"

"Of course I didn't. But there are too many people who know. It's inevitable that he finds out eventually."

"Bobby and I agree he won't hear it from us. I imagine Tiggy will say the same thing."

She resisted the urge to bite her lip as she absorbed that in silence. "How's Tig? I'm surprised he's not here."

"He's well enough. Mad as a wet hen. He had to stop by St. Thomas and get some stitches, and I told him to go home and rest. He needed time to cool off a bit." He took her by the chin and tilted her head this way and that. "I see they did quite a number on you, too."

"Mm," she said, shortly. Then, "Chibs, I need one more favor."

He let out a long sigh and scraped a hand down his face. His head fell back and he seemed to appeal for patience. "Go ahead, lass."

"I told them we had no idea the guard was an FBI agent. They're willing to grant immunity for his death, but only if we all swear in a signed affidavit that we didn't know."

His mouth quirked. "And of course we didn't."

"Right. So it shouldn't be a problem, should it?"

"Not at all, lass. I'll follow you back tonight and we can take care of it then. As soon as we're done here I'll let Happy and Tig know what they need to do."

"Thank you. I also told them how I stayed inside the warehouse while the rest of you took care of the guards—so I have no idea what happened. I mean, in case they ask."

"Got it." He cast a glance back at Juice's still form. "I should give you some time." He dropped a hand onto her shoulder and squeezed. "See you outside."

She nodded, suddenly too overcome to speak, and he brushed past her and out the door. She stood still and watched the rise and fall of Juice's chest. Listed to the heart monitor's steady beat and the _whoosh_ of the ventilator.

She stepped closer and brushed her fingers against his forehead. "Hey, baby," she said. "I miss you."

She wanted to see his eyes more than she'd ever wanted anything. Even if he woke up and said no, he wanted to stay in Charming, he wasn't ready to remake his entire life from the ground up…she still wanted to see his smile one more time.

"Fuck," she whispered. Swiped at her cheeks. "You've got to wake up, Juicy. Please, babe. I never thought I'd say this, ever—but I'm not sure I can do this without you." She leaned down so that her mouth was almost touching his ear. "I'm so scared. I don't want to leave you. I've never wanted to leave you, even when I thought about running from Charming. It was you who kept me here. It's always been you, love."

She dragged the chair closer and lowered herself into it. Rested her hand on his arm and stroked his skin with her thumb. "I can't believe I even talked to you the night we met. I mean, men come up to me in bars sometimes. It's part of being in a bar with tits and no man glowering over you. I always shut them down and sent them away. I still can't quite figure out how you were different.

"Sometimes I wonder if things would've gone the same way if I _had_ shut you down. We still would've met at TM. But…I wouldn't have known any of the shit I knew from that night. The way you taste. The way you touch me. How you make me laugh and the way you smile when you're perfectly, completely happy. I don't know that I would've let you get close enough for me to find out all that stuff.

"God, I feel like I'm eulogizing you," she said through sniffles. "This is so ridiculous."

There was a box of tissues on the bedside table, that scratchy hospital kind that hurt your nose after a few swipes, but it wasn't like she had any choice in the matter. She pressed one across her eyes and shook her head.

"Probably better you're asleep, honestly. I look look like…well, like someone bounced my face off a wall. It's okay, though. Looks worse than it feels."

She ran a finger along the back of his hand. "Do you remember last Thanksgiving? It was right after we finally got together, and everyone was at Gem and Clay's. We thought we were so goddamn sneaky. Gemma sat us across from each other and I just…I couldn't take my eyes off you the whole day. You'd been so sad, but that one day you were happy. Or at least you seemed it." She smirked. "Then when we got back home we broke that little table I had in the hall. _Someone_ couldn't keep his pants on long enough to make it to the bedroom. Though I guess maybe I helped a little."

The tissue was a shredded mess in her hand, so she grabbed another one. "We could've had two and a half years if I hadn't been so stubborn. Fourteen months of it you were in jail, but still. You would've been mine. You would've had someone to come home to. Instead I pushed you away and told you I didn't want you and that—I've told some lies in my life, but that one was maybe the stupidest." She took a long, hitching breath. "You're everything I've ever wanted without having any idea I wanted it. Maybe that sounds stupid. Fuck. I should've told you all of this when you were awake to hear it."

She lowered her forehead to rest against the edge of the bed. "Don't do this to me, Ortiz," she pleaded. "It's not fair. What the fuck am I supposed to do without you? I'm yours and you're mine. It wasn't supposed to go down this way. I know things hardly ever work out the way we want, but maybe just this once we could get a break. Just this once. It can't rain all the time," she said as her voice choked with the force of her sobs.

She must have cried herself to sleep like that, hunched over beside the bed with her head on her folded arms, because the next thing she knew Chibs was standing behind her with his hand on her back and his voice quiet in her ear.

"Ollie darlin', time's up."

Olivia jerked upright. Juice was still unconscious. A doctor stood next to him checking the machine's readouts and looking over his chart. He offered her a kind, tired smile.

"Ms. Gable, I'm Dr. Henry. I performed Mr. Ortiz's surgery."

She swallowed and rubbed a hand over her gritty eyes. The pain from her bruises was steadying and helped tether her. "Dr. Bryant said if he wasn't awake within twenty-four hours…?"

Dr. Henry looked grave. "It's true we would prefer some more signs of improvement by now, but the fact that things haven't gotten worse is reason to hope. His vitals are strong. As I'm sure you're aware, his heart stopped both in the ER and on the operating table. All tests indicate good brain activity. I still think it's just a matter of time at this point."

"I don't have time," she said. She glanced at the clock on the wall. "A few hours. That's it."

He spread his hands. "I have no way of knowing how long it will be. I'm truly sorry, Ms. Gable."

There was a knock on the door and Donnelly poked her head in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Agent Carmichael just called. He says he needs his answer."

Olivia's chin trembled as she pulled out the bit of paper Chibs had given her. "Teddy's here," she said and waved it. "Could you give me a minute? Tell Carmichael I'm coming, and he'll get what he wants."

Donnelly nodded and disappeared.

Dr. Henry cleared his throat. "I'll be in the hall if you have any more questions."

Chibs started to go too, but she grabbed his cut. "Stay," she said. "Please."

"Aye, lass," he said, gently.

She turned back to Juice and summoned a smile from somewhere. "I guess this's it," she said. She kissed his jaw, the spot she always kissed when they stood together, his arms tight around her shoulders, his big hands warm on her back, and that one spot was the closest thing she could reach with her mouth.

"I love you, Juicy, and I always will. Wake up, okay? Even if you can't wake up for me, please at least wake up." She straightened and shoved her hair behind her ears. "Let's go," she said to Chibs. "Now, before I change my mind."

Chibs rested a hand on the small of her back and led her from the room. She didn't look back. She knew if she did all her resolve would crumble and she'd stay parked by that hospital bed until he opened his eyes, deal be damned.

At least this way, if—no, _when_—he woke up, there was still a chance. If she went to Atlanta there wasn't any. They would kill her and make it look like an accident and she would never see him again.

This way gave her hope. Slim and small and faint, but hope. And it was just enough to keep her going.

* * *

_Last night I finally got around to watching the first two eps of Outlander, and somewhere about mid-pilot I realized that Olivia is STRONGLY influenced by Claire Frasier. I've read the first of those books 3 times, I think, and the second one twice, and I've gotten through 5 of them in all. I read_ Outlander_ the first time when I was pretty young, like 17? So it had a strong impression on me. Anyway. If you dig Olivia you'd probably dig Claire, and lord knows Jaime's the hottest thing in a kilt. Also the show is really presented to cater to the female gaze, and that's a refreshing change over, say Game of Thrones; also made from a book series I love but. Well. This isn't the forum for that. (GoT is just an example; one could fill in literally any other show on tv that isn't broadcast on Lifetime or something)_


	60. As I'm Leaving

I get the sense that you guys are as torn as I am about this fic ending. I've got ideas for, um, supplemental scenes, stuff that didn't make the final cut...like that Thanksgiving scene Olivia was talking about in the last chapter.

Also like a dozen AU ideas but that feels completely self-indulgent.

If any of you are interested in any of the above, lemme know. Maybe it'll happen.

* * *

**as i'm leaving a change comes on my eyes**  
**these streets persuading me with mumbles strange goodbyes**  
**and through the water, through the ring**  
**to the soul of everything**  
**throw my heart out on the stones**  
**and i'm almost gone**  
David Gray, "As I'm Leaving"

The Charming Sheriff's station was bustling with activity when Donnelly and Olivia walked in. There were probably five or ten Feds, Patterson, and a tall guy Patterson introduced as Jim Wong, US Attorney for the district. She lifted a brow. Looked like Lincoln Potter had been replaced.

Gloria was with them, as well, but she broke off as soon as she saw Olivia and came to stand beside her. Chibs walked in just behind them, and he and Gloria shared a long hug and quiet words that seemed a little more than just friendly.

Olivia cast him a look and he flashed her a smug grin and waggled his brows. She smothered a laugh behind her hand, and it earned her a glare from Patterson.

"Ms. Gable," she said with a nod. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Mr. Telford is here to sign the affidavit we've prepared about Agent Stephens. I assume you can administer the oath, Mr. Wong?"

"Of course," he said. "Perhaps we should step into Sheriff Donnelly's office?"

"Be my guest," she said dryly.

The statement was simple: at the time of Agent Stephens' death on Monday, June 27, 2011, none of the five witnesses present were aware he was a Federal Agent. He never identified himself as such, and they had no reason to believe he was anything other than what he appeared to be: a bodyguard employed by Theodore Jonathan Flanary, Sr. There was nothing directly incriminating in it; it didn't name anyone as the shooter; and it didn't name Stephens as O'Rourke's killer.

Olivia went first. Put her hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth, then signed her name to a statement that was largely fabrication. Chibs followed, and she wondered how his Catholicism allowed the seeming contradiction.

It was his job to make himself right with God; Olivia just wanted them to be right with the US government and the state of California.

"My client assures me that Mr. Trager and Mr. Lowman will be here before the night is out to sign the statement as well," Gloria said. "Mr. Ortiz, of course, is incapacitated."

"Of course," Wong said with a slight moue of sympathy. "I understand you two are engaged, Ms. Gable. I'm very sorry."

It was the first time anyone involved in this debacle (besides Gloria) had expressed any sort of compassion, and she was touched. He seemed genuine. "Thank you, Mr. Wong," she said. "I appreciate you saying so."

"Shall we get started?" he said to both her and Gloria.

"Once I sign, is that it? I mean…will I have a chance—?"

"You should say any goodbyes now," Wong said. "As soon as you sign we'll mobilize on Flanary and we'll need you in protective custody immediately."

"Right," she said.

"We'll give you a minute," Gloria said.

Wong looked reluctant, but after a moment he followed her out of the office and left Olivia and Chibs alone.

"Well," she said. "I thought I'd get to say goodbye to some of the others. Tig. I haven't seen him since…" She trailed off and her hand fluttered to her face.

"I'll call him, lass. Drag him in while you're talkin'. That way you can at least see him."

She nodded and swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry about Gemma, Chibs."

"That's not on you, Ollie. She made her bed. Now she has to lie in it." He took her by the shoulders, careful of the sore one, and gave her a brief, gentle shake. "You're a bonny, brave lass, Olivia Jameson, and it's been a privilege to know you."

"Fuck, Chibs, don't be so nice to me. I'm trying not to cry here."

He pulled her against him with a curse of his own, and she could swear the cheek he rested against the top of her head was damp.

"Hug Chucky for me," she said, her voice muffled by his leather. "And make sure Wade doesn't fuck up the garage. And tell Happy he needs to get that goddamn oil leak looked at because it's a fucking embarrassment. Oh! And help Rat find an old lady, because he's just been a mess since things went south with Pam and he deserves somebody really sweet. A _nice_ girl, Chibs, not someone just lookin' for the status."

He chuckled a little. Typical Olivia. He was surprised she didn't run through the entire club. It wasn't just engines she had an urge to fix. "Aye, lass. Whatever you say. Anything else?"

"Make sure you sell my car to someone who's going to take care of it. Don't sell it to a dumb ass college kid or some yuppy asshole going through a midlife crisis."

He snorted and remembered the way they'd bet on her identity the first day she'd pulled in at TM. "Probably won't sell it, truth be told. It's not so bad, for a cage. And Tara might want it. She still misses her Cutlass."

"Not exactly a family car," she said with a frown. But the idea of Tara owning her car thrilled her. Tara would love him the way he deserved.

"Don't die, Chibby," she whispered. "For fuck's sake just don't die bloody."

"I'm not goin' anywhere, darlin', and neither is Juicy boy."

She pulled away and managed a watery smile. "I think I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow." Besides Juice, of course, but that went without saying.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and ran a hand over her hair. "Charming'll be a poorer place for your absence, Ollie lass. Take care of yourself, and try to stop lookin' over your shoulder quite so hard."

"That'll be the day," she said with a twist of her mouth.

Neither of them were sure what else to say, and they both hated goodbyes. She gave him one last hug, squeezed him tight enough to make him grunt, and then fled.

* * *

He had figured out that since this was a dream, he could actually get out of the bed and walk around. He _hadn't_ figured out how to make himself appear in anything but the stupid hospital gown, though, so his ass was hanging in the wind as he stood and contemplated the door.

A big stenciled _2_ had appeared on it at some point. He still couldn't look directly at the light that oozed around the edges. He touched the handle. It was warm. Almost hot. He pressed his ear against it but couldn't make out any sounds.

"Nice ass, Ortiz," her warm voice said from behind him.

He turned around slowly. She sat perched on the edge of the bed, one leg thrown over the other. She was dressed like she'd been the first time he'd dreamt of her, and he took a moment to get an eyeful from her toes all the way up before he finally looked her in the face. Her expression was wry and knowing, and it made him smile.

"Hey, beautiful," he said.

"Hey, sexy. Lookin' good. You really pull off that invalid chic."

"Thanks," he said with a grimace.

Her head tilted. "Seems like you're making a choice."

"I don't know." He glanced back at the door. "I'm sick of it here. It's like limbo." He frowned. "You're not Catholic."

"I know what limbo is, babe. And you aren't exactly Catholic these days, either."

"I was raised in it. Until my mom died. Some things you don't really forget."

She slid off the bed and sauntered toward him. Her arms went around his shoulders and she kissed him long and slow. "If you need to go, go."

"You mean it?" he said and squeezed her waist.

"It's always been your choice. I'm just the voice in your head."

He brushed her hair back. She smiled at him and wandered away. He watched her go with a poignant ache in his chest. He didn't want to leave her, but she'd been right when she'd said he couldn't stay for her alone. And he was so fucking _tired_.

"What's this?" she said. A box had appeared at the foot of the bed, an old shoebox with worn corners and a rubber band wrapped around it.

He blinked. "I didn't—"

"Some part of you must've," she said over her shoulder. "Your dream, m'love."

She reached for it, but he surged forward to stop her. "Wait!"

"Your porn stash? I thought I'd seen that."

"No, uh. No it's nothing like that. Just—it's kind of…it's embarrassing, kinda."

She lifted a brow. "Now I'm intrigued."

He sighed and boosted himself onto the bed. Swung his legs around and gestured her closer. "Come here."

She settled down between his thighs, leaning carefully against his chest, and tugged the box closer. The rubber band snapped when she pulled on it. "Ow."

"Sorry, baby," he said. He kissed the red mark it had left and she grinned at him.

"Worth it." She lifted the lid and blinked in consternation. "Letters," she said, nonplussed.

"Yup."

She poked through them. "These are addressed to me. All of them."

He pressed a hand against her belly and kissed the side of her neck. "Uh huh."

"Don't think you're going to distract me, Ortiz. What am I looking at here?"

He drew in a long breath. "When we were in jail for that long stretch, I got kinda…I don't know. Lonely, I guess. So I wrote you."

"I didn't get any of these."

"I know. I didn't mail them."

"Why not?" she said, craning her neck to look at him.

"You made yourself clear before I went in, Liv. You didn't want to be with me. You didn't want me near you. Some of these are sorta…I mean…I didn't think they'd be appropriate." He shrugged a little. "Then I heard you were with Kitty, so I was really glad I hadn't mailed any of them."

"But you kept writing them."

"Well yeah. I was assigned to work in the library because I was good with the computers. Almost every day when I was restocking books and shit I'd see something that made me think of you. I'd write them all down at the end of the week and put it away without mailing it."

He grabbed a letter from the top of the pile and opened it. "Oh, this's a good one. I read this one a hundred times.

My love,  
we have found each other  
thirsty and we have  
drunk up all the water and the blood,  
we have found each other  
hungry  
and we bit each other  
as fire bites,  
leaving wounds in us.

But wait for me,  
keep for me your sweetness.  
I will give you too  
a rose."

He dipped his head as he finished reading it. "By a guy named Pablo Neruda. It just—like how he talks about them hurting each other? But he wants her to wait for him. Because despite that, he still loves her, and he knows she loves him."

"They're better together," she said, softly.

"Yeah. Exactly." He dug a bit and examined another one. "Oh, I found this one online somewhere:

You should know…

between your legs,  
lies a garden of  
tulips,  
And I can't wait to kiss your  
(tu)-lips,  
Water you until wet,  
And lay over you  
like the Sun."

"Sexy," she murmured.

"See why I couldn't mail them?"

She took the letter from him and read it over again. "I wish you had. I would've loved this, Juicy."

"I never thought you'd be the type of person who wanted…poetry, I guess. That sorta thing. Romantic shit."

She grinned. "I'm not. Never have been." She twisted around to face him and pressed her mouth to his. "I don't want romance. I didn't then and I don't now. What I _want_—and _wanted_ back then—is _you_. Practically the minute I told you to stay away I regretted it. That last conversation before you went in was agony. These would've given me the excuse I needed to quit being so fucking stubborn."

He cleared his throat and dropped her gaze. "Babe—"

She grabbed his face in her hands. Her bright eyes were pleading. "Come back to me, Juicy. Please. It's supposed to be you and me. I don't know how to do this without you."

"You told me I could go if I wanted."

"You can. Of course you can." She laughed, jangling and strained. "I just don't _want_ you to."

"You always get what you want, Gable?" he said, his mouth hovering just over hers.

"Hardly ever," she said and flicked her tongue across his lips. "Except when it comes to you."

"That's because I'm a sucker for a redhead with a nice rack," he murmured just before he kissed her.

She brushed her nose against his as the kiss broke. "Any redhead with a nice rack, or a particular one?"

He tangled his fingers in her hair and stroked his thumb down her cheek. "Just one."

Her face clouded. She cast a glance over her shoulder. "Fuck," she muttered. "I've gotta go, baby."

"What? Why? Isn't this my dream?"

She smiled at him, but it was sad and haunted. "It is. But I'm leaving."

"What do you mean you're leaving?"

She pulled away and slipped off the bed. He reached for her, but she stepped back. The pain in his chest hit him harder than ever, and he fell back against the pillows with a strangled gasp.

"Olivia, what—?"

"Open your eyes, Juicy. Wake up. It's better. I think it's better. It can't rain all the time."

"You said you'd stay!"

"Things change. I love you, baby. Always will."

The tightness in his chest was growing, overwhelming him, and when he opened his mouth no words came out. She brushed tears off her face. Suddenly the room was flooded with so much light it hurt. He screwed his eyes shut.

_Open your eyes, fuckin' coward_, he told himself. _Just do it. She's right._

His eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Even heavier weights were tied to his limbs and he waded through thick, sucking sand. Slowly, achingly, he forced them open.

He forced himself awake.

* * *

Chibs was half-dozing when he heard the noise. He sat up straighter and peered at the still form in the bed. Except it wasn't still. That's the noise he'd heard: Juice's hand moving against the sheets. His eyes were open and they roved the room. He reached for the tube going into his mouth and Chibs stopped him.

"Whoa, Juicy boy," he said. "Hang on a mo'. Good to see you decided to join us."

Juice blinked at him, and then his brow furrowed. He moved his chin a little and Chibs nodded.

"You were shot, lad. Try to stay still. They've got you on this wee breathing machine. I'll go get the doctor and we can get it out."

He patted Juice's shoulder and turned away. Paused a moment to bury his face in his hand and pull himself together. He had tried to put on a brave face for Olivia, but in truth he wasn't sure Juice was going to come out of it at all. He loved the boy dearly, despite all his fuck ups, and he'd been sick at the idea of him going out like _this_, wasting away in some hospital bed somewhere while machines kept him going.

Chibs cleared his throat and hurried to grab a nurse. She paged the doctor—Bryant, the one who'd talked to them that first day—and soon he and two other nurses were crowded around Juice's bed checking vital signs, listening to his chest, and poking and prodding.

"Mr. Ortiz," Dr. Bryant said, "can you hear me?"

Juice nodded a little. His hand moved to his chest and he squinted.

"I can imagine it hurts. After we get the tube out we can give you something for the pain." He carefully stripped the tape off Juice's face. "Cough for me."

Juice did, and the doctor pulled the tube clear. A nurse stuck a basin under his chin and he spit up all sorts of interesting things. Finally he subsided and fell back against the raised head of the bed. Every inhale made him wince. The nurse offered him a sip of water, and he accepted gratefully.

"Your throat's going to be sore for a bit, but that's normal. Can you tell me what you remember?"

Juice glanced at Chibs, his look questioning. "It's all right, Juicy," he said. "Tell the truth."

He frowned, and when he spoke his voice was thick and damaged-sounding. "I got shot," he said. "I'm in the hospital."

"The lad isn't wrong," said Chibs.

He rolled his eyes and tried not to smile. "They had a gun in the chicken."

Dr. Bryant glanced at Chibs. "The chicken, Mr. Ortiz?"

"Juice. Just call me _Juice_."

"Seems to me like his memory's pretty good," Chibs said. Thanks to Olivia they were immune from any sort of prosecution when it came to the kidnapping, but that didn't mean he wanted Juice to spill the entire story in front of the well-meaning, earnest Dr. Bryant.

Juice swallowed another sip of water. "Chibby—" He coughed, gasped in pain, and tried again. "Chibby, where's Liv? Is she here?"

"Ahh…" He looked away.

Dr. Bryant shone a light into each of Juice's eyes, but he knocked his hands away. Something about Chibs' face scared him. "She's okay, right? Nothing—nothing happened to her?"

"She's fine, lad. Healthy as could be."

He should feel relieved, but he couldn't help but think Chibs wasn't telling him the whole truth. The pain was distracting. Agonizing. He couldn't remember pain like it before. He opened his mouth to ask again, but he could only pant.

"All right, uh, Juice—try to relax. Dr. Henry will be here soon."

As if conjured by Bryant's words, Dr. Henry bustled into the room with speed and sprightliness that belied his age. "Mr. Ortiz! So nice to see you awake. I imagine you're hurting a bit, aren't you?"

"A…little, yeah."

He took Juice's chart from Dr. Bryant and flipped through it. "Any allergies?"

"Pumpkin," he said through gritted teeth.

"That must be inconvenient at Halloween, but it shouldn't be a problem for us." He handed the chart back. "Prep Mr. Ortiz for an epidural, Dr. Bryant."

"Epidural? Don't think the lad's havin' a baby, doc."

"No, of course not," he said. "We've found that an epidural is the safest and most effective means of pain management following surgery like Mr. Ortiz's. It will stay in for a week while we monitor him, and then we'll address the issue of discharge."

"If you'd like to wait outside, Mr. Telford…?" Dr. Bryant said.

"Aye." He touched Juice's shoulder. "I'll be back, Juicy. Try to listen to the good doctors."

Juice grabbed his arm with surprising strength. "Olivia, Chibby. Where…?"

Dr. Henry cleared his throat. "Ms. Gable stepped away, but I'm sure she would be thrilled to know you're awake. Mr. Telford?"

"I'll—I'll call her, lad. Tig took her home for a shower and some fresh clothes. You know how she is."

He smiled a little. "Hates wearin' the wrong thing."

Chibs patted Juice's hand where he held on, and gradually his grip loosened. "Y'okay," he said. "Prob'bly had to drag her out."

"Aye, lad, we did. Stubborn, our Ollie."

"I'll walk you out," Dr. Henry said to Chibs. Over his shoulder to Dr. Bryant, "Page me when he's ready."

They stepped out into the hall and Dr. Henry closed the door behind them. "Mr. Telford, I'm sure I don't have to explain to you how delicate Mr. Ortiz's condition is."

"You think we shouldn't tell him about Olivia."

"Not just yet. Give him some time. We'll get the epidural in and his pain under control, and then you can break the news."

"I don't like lyin' to the lad."

"It's for the best, Mr. Telford. Think of it this way: what if Ms. Gable had been killed? Would you want to tell him that as soon as he opened his eyes, or would you wait?"

He scraped a hand over his chin and shook his head. His expression was grave. "I'll pass the word amongst the lads. But he'll get more insistent, doc. Those two…they don't stray too far. Next time he wakes up and she's not here, I can't imagine we'll be able to put him off."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, let him heal."

* * *

Chibs was right, of course. When Juice woke up several hours later the epidural was working and he felt sort of floaty and happy. But Olivia still wasn't there. Bobby had taken Chibs' place in the bedside chair, and he was the one who broke the news. He did it as gently as he could, explaining how she'd waited until the last minute and they'd almost had to drag her away before Carmichael's window closed.

He told him about Gemma's arrest, too, and how he, Tig, and Chibs had agreed to leave Juice's name out of it. Enough damage had been done; they didn't need to add to it.

Juice absorbed all of it in silence, his expression flat, his eyes distant. She'd done this before. But that had been different, and he didn't think there would be any last minute reprieves this time. She'd said goodbye; he just hadn't been awake to hear it. He asked Bobby if he could have some time alone, and Bobby had acquiesced with a worried frown.

Now, two days later, Juice was alone. Really alone, because the one person who had made him feel otherwise was gone. She wasn't coming back. It had been four days since she'd made the deal. Teddy was in custody and Olivia was…who knew where. Federal protective custody and well beyond anyone's reach.

He'd sent Chibs to his house to search the hall closet for the shoebox from his dream. Now it was on the bed beside him, and he dug aimlessly through the letters. He should have sent them. If they'd made her mad or upset her she would've said so and he could've stopped—but at least she would've known. It had been important to him to her respect her wishes, but he should have at least _told_ her.

He'd also asked Chibs to call Olivia's lawyer for him. The enthusiasm with which Chibs greeted the request made Juice wonder, and he was looking forward to seeing what all the fuss was about. She was due in ten minutes or so. Juice tried to fight the effects of the drugs and keep his eyes open. It wasn't easy.

His chin dropped and he dozed. He didn't dream of Olivia. He hadn't dreamt of her since the day he woke up, when she'd told him she had to go. Weird, but he didn't believe in freaky shit like psychics or mind reading or anything. Just a coincidence.

He jerked awake and flinched. There was a knock at the door and he called for the person to come in. He knew it wasn't a nurse; they never asked first.

The door opened and a woman just this side of drop-dead gorgeous walked in. Was this a joke? Had the guys…?

"Mr. Ortiz?" she said. "I'm Gloria Lopez, Olivia's attorney. Mr. Telford said you wanted to speak with me."

He swallowed hard. Wow. No wonder Chibs had looked so excited. "Um." He shook his head a little. "Um, yeah. You can sit down if you want."

Her mouth quirked and she perched at the edge of the uncomfortable bedside chair. "How can I help you, Mr. Ortiz? If you're looking for legal advice—"

"No," he said. "No, thanks. I did one of those power of attorney things the other day. The hospital had a fit about it. Also a living will so if I go to sleep again they can just pull the plug."

Delicate brows drew together over luminous ochre eyes. "If this is about Olivia, I can't answer many questions."

"Chibs told me you can't say where she is."

"I don't _know_ where she is, Mr. Ortiz," she said, gently. She hesitated. "She clearly loves you very much. She was…heartbroken…about having to go without speaking to you. I tried to talk them into extending the deadline, but they wouldn't. The doctor was too unsure about a timetable for your condition, and—"

"It's okay."

He couldn't hear anymore about how it had been that last night. How he'd slept as she'd cried. What a fucking asshole. It wasn't his fault, and he knew that—but he still felt like shit about it. No one would talk him out of that.

He put the lid back on the shoebox and slid it toward her. "Is there any way you could get this to Olivia?"

She took it from him with a curious look and opened the lid. Poked through the contents and lifted her head to study him. "Letters, Mr. Ortiz?"

"I wrote 'em a while ago, and I should've given 'em to her before…but I'd like her to have them now. If that's okay."

"I can ask her Marshall if she can pass them along. There's no guarantee, though."

His head fell back against the pillows. "Yeah," he said. "I get it."

"Mr. Ortiz," she said after a moment, "this question is probably inappropriate, and you don't have to answer, but…would you have gone with her?"

He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "I'd still go with her. She walked into this room right now and told me to get outta bed in this stupid fuckin' gown with my ass hangin' out, I'd follow her anywhere. She was it for me. Endgame."

His speech was starting to slur. Gloria ducked her head to hide a smile and rose to her feet. She took the box and touched him lightly on the arm. "Get some rest, Mr. Ortiz. I'll see what I can do."

* * *

The next time Juice opened his eyes he turned his head and blinked. There was a well-dressed Asian man in the chair, and he had papers spread all over the little tray table that was usually across the bed. His first thought was Asian mafia, and that was no good considering how they'd left that relationship.

"Who the fuck are you?" he said.

The man looked up and pulled off a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses. "Mr. Ortiz. Finally. I was told you were in and out, but I didn't realize it was more _out_ than _in_. I'm a very busy man."

"Uh huh," Juice said, unimpressed. "Who the fuck are you?"

He cleared his throat and smoothed his tie. "My name is Jim Wong, and I'm the US District Attorney for the territory that includes both Stockton and Charming."

His eyes narrowed. "You know Lincoln Potter?"

"I did, yes. He resigned several months ago."

"Asshole tried real fuckin' hard to ruin my life. Guess I can't hate him too hard, though, because he's the one who sent Olivia back to Charming." He paused and tried not to hope. "That why you're here?"

"Ms. Gable will never be able to return to Charming, Mr. Ortiz. The FBI is doing their best to dismantle Teddy Flanary's organization, but there's no way to know what sort of failsafes he might have built in in case of his arrest. There is a clear and present danger to her life, and there probably always will be."

He drew in a deep breath—it hurt, but the physical therapist had told him over and over how important it was to keep breathing as deep as he could—and let it out slowly. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I guess I knew that."

Wong rested his fingers on a small stack of papers in one corner of the table. "It isn't possible for her to come to you, Mr. Ortiz, but it might just be possible for you to go to her."

His head shot up and his eyes went big and round. "What are you talking about?"

"She's currently in Federal Protective Custody, and it's impossible to reach her; however, when Flanary goes to trial, she will perforce have to be moved to San Francisco, where the trial will take place. At that time, if you would still like to join her before she enters WITSEC, that would be an option."

He stared. He wasn't sure he'd heard correctly, and part of him wondered if he were dreaming again. "I could go? With Liv? I could go be in Witness Protection with her?"

"That's right." He paused, and his look was serious. "I understand you're on a lot of pain medication at the moment, and you've just suffered a grievous injury. Witness Protection is not something that should be entered into lightly or at the spur of the moment. It is an entire reset of your life. You will of course have to leave your Motorcycle Club. Your tattoos will have to be removed—not blacked out, as I understand is the custom when someone leaves an MC. You will have to grow your hair to cover the tattoos on your scalp and never shave it again. Of course you'll have to move, and you'll have to choose a new name."

He began to pack his things into a black briefcase, and when he was done one document remained. "You'll want to go over this with a lawyer, and probably discuss it with your club and any family you have. Once you join the program, you're in. You cannot have any contact with anyone from your old life. Do you understand, Mr. Ortiz?"

"Um." He shook his head, still reeling. "Yeah, I get it. It's huge."

"An understatement, but close. I'll leave you to think it over. My card is stapled to the agreement. Call me when you've made a decision."

"Wait, hang on," Juice said.

Wong stopped and turned back with an inquisitive tilt to his head. "Yes, Mr. Ortiz?"

"How long?"

"The rest of your life."

He waved an impatient hand. "No, man, I understand that part. I mean how long until Doyle's trial. How long until I could see her?"

"Oh." He paused to think it over. "Right now it's scheduled for December. His legal team has already filed for an extension, which I'm sure will be granted. Honestly? At least a year. Maybe longer. That might be something else to consider as you make your decision.

"Anything else I can answer for you?" he said after a moment.

He had no idea what to say. Everything sounded inadequate and stupid. "No, not right now. But thanks. I mean—thanks for waiting. And for doin' this."

"Don't thank me, Mr. Ortiz. Ms. Gable's attorney is a formidable and relentless woman." His mouth moved in a brief smile. "Rather like the lady herself, wouldn't you say?"

He didn't give Juice a chance to reply before he was out the door and gone. Juice stared after him, stunned. A year. No contact. A year without her, and then the rest of his life _with_ her. But no club, ever. None of his brothers. None of his family here at all.

He glowered and reached for the agreement. He'd been right about one thing: it was a huge decision, and Juice had to make the right one.

No fuck-ups this time. It was too important.

* * *

_The two poems are "Absence" by Pablo Neruda and "Tulips" by Dean Steed. You can find both of them (along with pics of Mireille Enos, some fashion insp, tattoos, and a bunch o' other stuff) in the "fic insp" tag on my tumblr._

_I don't know why I decided to make Juice allergic to pumpkin. Random._

_ANYway, one more to go. POSSIBLY two, but more likely one. :)_

_eta: so I'm in the middle of writing ch61 and I realize there's gonna be a ch62. Otherwise it'll be an embarrassingly long chapter than unbalances the whole thing. So. Two more!_


	61. From the Start

Kind of a long beginning quote bc, uh. I'm almost outta room! Next to last chapter, lovelies. :)

As always, thank you so much for your reviews. I love reading them, and they've really helped inspire me for these last couple chapters.

* * *

**i look in her eyes  
and i see her smile  
makes me helpless like a newborn child  
she's the light that fills my day  
so hard to see now that she's away**

** lookin' back on the day we met  
that's the one thing that i won't forget  
i could see it there from the start  
she was the one that would take my heart**  
Jeremy Kushnier, "The Smile in Her Eyes"

She couldn't believe how nervous she was. She paced the small room and rubbed her palms against her slacks. She checked the clock on the wall and paced some more.

"Are they late?" she said.

"No, they're not late," Trudy Elizabeth, her Marshal, said with a sigh. "Olivia. Sit down. You're making _me_ nervous."

"What if he doesn't come?"

"He'll come, Olivia. You need to relax."

"How can I relax, Tru? It's been fifteen months. What if he _does_ come, but it's only to tell me he met someone else and he's marrying her and WITSEC isn't exactly his idea of a good time and—"

"Olivia! For God's sake, girl. You have got to breathe."

"I'm breathing."

"_Breathe_, don't hyperventilate."

"I'm not hyperventilating." A few seconds passed. "Maybe I'm hyperventilating a little."

Trudy sighed and unfolded her six-foot frame from the plastic chair. She pressed Olivia into it and rubbed the back of her neck. "You're gonna be just fine. He'll be here. It's all gonna work out."

"Nothing ever works out, Tru."

"Now what kind of attitude is that? You're still alive, right? Teddy's on trial for felony murder and about twenty-five other things. Soon as you testify you're off to sunny Vermont."

"What if he hates the idea of Vermont? What if he'd rather go to Hawaii?"

"I don't think he'll hate the idea of Vermont. Everybody loves syrup and…white people. I don't know. Whatever the hell it is they have in Vermont. If he wants to go to Hawaii, explain to him that's great, but you'll have to spend your whole life in turtlenecks in the tropics and maybe that's not the best idea."

Olivia had convinced them not to make her get her tattoo removed. It had been a hard-won battle, and they'd only agreed on the condition that she basically never take her shirt off in public for the rest of her life. That meant no two-piece bathing suits, no crop tops, and no short shorts.

"I don't have the complexion for Hawaii anyway," she muttered.

"You sure as hell don't," Trudy said.

There was a knock at the door, and Olivia shot to her feet. "Oh my God."

"Keep breathing." Trudy peeked through the wire-latticed window and opened the door. Stood aside to let Gloria by.

Olivia and Gloria shared a brief hug. "You okay?" Gloria said.

"She's a basket case. Don't let her lie to you."

"I'm a basket case. Is he…?"

"He's here. Are you ready?"

She bit her lip. Her hands shook and she pressed them against her thighs. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."

Trudy poked her head out into the hall. "Juice?" she said.

He appeared in the doorway, and his face moved in a slow smile. "Hey, baby," he said.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She covered her mouth with both hands and tried to keep breathing. "You're here," she finally whispered.

Trudy jerked her head toward the hall. "We'll give you two some time," she said. Gloria squeezed Olivia's arm as she went by, and then the two women were gone and they were alone.

They stared at each other, neither sure what to say. "Your hair," she finally said.

He rubbed a hand over his head and grinned. "Yeah. Had to grow it out. The tats."

She nodded and chewed on her lip.

"_Your_ hair," he said. It was longer than he'd last seen it, just past her shoulders, and it was brown. Kind of a chestnut color, dark and warm.

"Oh." She laughed a little. "They're going to let me change it back once I'm _in_ in, but for now I had to dye it." A crease appeared between her brows. "Do you hate it?"

"What? No. Of course I don't hate it. It looks…it looks good, Liv. With your eyes, especially." It made them seem greener, more intense, and for a moment he was lost. He blinked and jerked his head a little. "Looks real good," he mumbled.

And then it was too much, the space between them, and they crashed into each other, all fumbling hands and hungry, searching mouths. He kissed her forehead. Her eyelids. Her nose and her cheeks and finally, finally, her mouth.

"God I missed you so much," he whispered between heady, drunken kisses.

"I'm so glad you're here. I'm so glad—" She broke off, and he kissed her tears away as they fell. "I love you, Juicy."

"I love you too, Liv. Tell me we're never gonna have to do that again. Don't think I could stand it. You and me, right?"

"You and me, baby. From now on."

* * *

The FBI and the Marshals had taken over a small boutique hotel on Knobb Hill. It only had ten rooms, one entrance, and a tiny staff. It was apparently worth the expense to keep their star witness isolated in a bubble of Federal agents. Her room was on the second floor, looking out over the back alley, and all the rooms around her were occupied by Feds of one stripe or another. There was even some San Francisco PD, just for fun.

Trudy let them in to Olivia's room and hesitated in the doorway. "Don't forget about the—" She tilted her head toward the light fixture and Olivia made a face. "You need anything, call."

"Thanks, Tru," Olivia said. "See you in the morning."

"Eight AM. You're due in court at nine."

She rolled her eyes. "I know, Trudy. Thank you, Trudy. You're a goddess among mere mortals, Trudy."

"You are a pain in my ass, Olivia Gable."

"I'm your favorite witness and you know it."

She let out a huff of breath, smothered a grin, and let the door slam behind her as she disappeared into the hall. Olivia set the locks and turned toward Juice. Her nerves were suddenly back. She laced her fingers together and smiled a little.

"So," she said.

"So." He frowned. "What aren't you supposed to forget?"

"The surveillance. Video and audio in here, audio only in the bedroom. I guess they just need to hear me sleep, not watch me."

"Oh." He shifted his weight and tucked his hands into the pockets on his leather jacket. "Um. That might be…"

"Awkward. Yeah. Welcome to life in a fishbowl. At least for the next few days."

"What happens after you testify?"

"We join the program proper. New identities. A new town. Jobs, which is good. A new car," she said through gritted teeth.

His mouth quirked. "Tara's takin' good care of the Cougar."

Her eyes brightened. "How is she? And the boys?"

"They're great. She decided to stay in Charming. Wait for Jax to get out. She, uh—she ended up remembering the attack."

"You?" she asked, frowning.

"Yeah. But Jax never did find out about that. Gemma didn't rat me out because it was too dangerous for the club, and Tara didn't rat me out because I guess she realized I tried to save her life. Even if I did fuck it all up by not checking to make sure she was okay. Besides, everyone knew I was coming here, so—" He shrugged.

"How's Gemma?"

"Well, you know. In jail. She took a plea."

"Yeah, Gloria told me."

"She'll be out in six to ten. She was looking at twenty-five because of Eli." His eyes narrowed and he studied her. "Did you send those pictures to Patterson?"

"Yes," she said, no hesitation.

"And you told Jax about Gemma?"

"That, too."

"Why?"

"I didn't want Gemma dead, Juice. Tig, Chibs, and Bobby all knew she did it. It was only a matter of time before they had to take it to Jax, and then to the table. I thought it would be better if the cops got there first."

"So why tell Jax?"

"It was the only leverage I had. He thought Teddy's men tried to kill his wife. It took a tiny bit of the sting away if he knew they didn't, but I had to give him the person who did." She paused. Fiddled with the cuff of her blouse. "It wasn't an easy decision."

"Do you regret it?" he said, his voice rough.

Her brow furrowed. "No, love, I don't. Maybe I should, but…I wouldn't trade Gemma's freedom for our lives. _My_ life. She deserves to be in prison. Tara's boys don't need her influence. Now maybe when Jax gets out they can have a chance at something good—without Gemma's poison dripping in everyone's ear."

"I think you did the right thing," he said. "If that makes it any better."

Her tense face eased into a smile. "It does."

They drifted closer. He brushed her hair off her shoulder. She smoothed her hands down his jacket. He ran his thumb along her jaw.

"I almost forgot how beautiful you are," he said.

"Don't try to charm me, Ortiz," she said. "I'm immune."

"Liar," he murmured as his mouth closed over hers.

His hands came up to cup her face. She braced her palms against his chest and could feel the steady pound of his heart against her fingers. The kiss stretched and lengthened. Their tongues brushed, warm and silky. He nipped her bottom lip and pulled away with a reluctant frown.

"What's the matter?" she said.

"There's something I need to tell you."

Her stomach fluttered. She cleared her throat. "Okay…?"

"You know how much I love you, right?"

"Um." She laced her fingers through his. "You're giving up your whole life to go into WITSEC with me. I have an idea, yeah."

He took a long breath. "It was a really long fifteen months."

"No argument here. Babe, spit it out. I'm getting kinda worried."

His chin dropped to his chest and he pulled his hand from hers. Scrubbed it over his head like he still wasn't used to having hair. Finally he said, "I slept with someone else."

"Oh," she said. It wasn't—it wasn't a huge surprise, really, but still. What does one say to that?

"It was six months ago, give or take, and I—I had this kinda crisis. Like, was I doing the right thing? Was I making what we had more special in my mind than it was in real life? Maybe if I—I don't know. I just thought—"

"It's okay," she said.

He stared at her.

"It is. I get it." She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was loud enough to make him jump. "You know, it's kind of hard to have this very _intimate_, _personal_ conversation with my fiancé when I know that half the goddamn FBI is listening in as they stuff Cheetos in their mouths."

She held up her fingers and mouthed the words as she counted: "One. Two. Three."

The phone rang. She flashed a smug smile and answered it. "Hello?"

"I've cut the audio in the bedroom. No listening in, no recording. It was the best I could do."

"You're a goddess among mere mortals, Trudy."

"Uh huh. Don't say I never did anything for you."

"I won't. Thank you." She hung up. "Maybe we should continue this conversation in the bedroom."

He blinked at her. "The bed's in there."

"That's awfully astute of you, Ortiz." She held out her hand, and after a brief hesitation he took it. She led him into the next room and shut the door behind them. "No bugs. We can actually talk now."

He nodded in relief and sank down on the edge of the bed. She sat next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed when they moved.

"Who was she?" she said after a moment.

"I, uh. I picked her up in a bar."

"Ah," she said with an amused snort.

"I wanted to see if it would be the same with someone else."

"And was it?" she said. She avoided his face and traced a pattern on the quilt between them.

"Fuck no," he said. "I mean, part of me thought there was no way our first night could've been as good as I remembered. We were good _later_ because we knew each other. You know, you learn all those sensitive places and special tricks and little…turn ons."

"Makes sense," she said.

"It was—I mean it was _fine_. It was sex. I'm a guy. Of course I had a decent time."

Her lips moved in a half-smile. "Did she?" She raised a hand before he could answer. "Never mind. I know she did. You're very…generous."

"It was just sex, Liv. That's all. A generic hook up. And it made me realize that what happened between us the night we met _was_ different. We were great together from minute one. And I know sex isn't everything, but, for us, it's kinda…"

"How we connect," she said when he trailed away. "How we come back to each other."

"Yeah," he said on a breath. "That's it."

She looked at him then, and her smile was wistful. "I'm not mad. I don't have a right to be. I slept with someone else, too."

His mouth fell open. "Wha…I mean…was it a guy, or…?"

"It was Gloria. My lawyer."

He laughed. "Wow." Shook his head and laughed again. "I can't even—is it weird that I have an urge to high five you?"

"She is _really_ hot," she said.

"_Ridiculously_ hot," he said. "Salma Hayek meets Eva Mendez or something."

"Salma Hayek has always been a weakness for me. That snake dance in _From Dusk Till Dawn_…"

"That fuckin' snake dance made me a man."

"That snake dance made me realize I'm bi."

He scraped both hands down his face and let out another rueful little chuckle. "God, this is maybe the strangest conversation I've ever had."

A silence fell. Their eyes met. "Did she make you come?" he said, quietly.

"Of course she did."

He ducked his head, and when he glanced up again his face was naked and vulnerable. "Like…like I do?"

Her lips curved. She kissed him, soft and sweet. "No one has ever made me come like you do, baby."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really." Her expression clouded and she ran her tongue along her upper lip. "Did you go down on her?"

"No," he said. He undid the top button on her blouse. "Did you?"

"Yes." She traced her fingers along his thigh. "She didn't go down on me, though."

He blinked, momentarily distracted from her buttons. "Then how—?"

Her head tilted in disbelief. "Juice. Come on."

He mulled it over. "So, what, like strap-ons and scissoring?"

She rolled her eyes. "I love you, Ortiz, but you watch way too much porn."

"It was a really long fifteen months, Olivia!"

She acknowledged that with a quirk of her brows. Then, serious again, "You went down on me our first night."

"Like I said: you're different. We're different. I didn't want…I didn't want to taste her like I wanted to taste you. I didn't want to come back to you knowing I'd done that."

He finished unbuttoning her blouse. Nudged it open to reveal her lacy white camisole underneath. He brushed the back of his fingers over the swell of her breasts and watched color flood her pale skin. Bent close and pressed his mouth where he'd just touched.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. "Juicy—"

"I wanna taste you right now, Liv. Make you come."

Her breath left her in a rush. "I want that too, love. So much."

"Good." He started to push her back on the bed, but she stopped him. He frowned up at her, confused.

"Take your clothes off, baby. I want to see you." She shrugged her blouse off her shoulders and got rid of the cami. Her bra was white, too, delicate and lacy and sheer.

He tweaked a nipple just to watch it get hard. She batted his hand away with a grin. "Strip, Ortiz," she said, a playful order as she caught her lower lip between her teeth.

He got rid of his boots and socks before he pushed off the edge of the bed and took off his jacket. Her eyes widened when she saw his arms. "Yeah," he said. "I feel kinda naked without it."

She traced her finger down his forearm. There was barely a scar, just a slight discoloration of his skin where the tattoo had been. Same thing on the other side. "Wow," she said.

He nodded toward her left arm. "I see you got to keep yours."

"Um. Well." It was different than it had been: it ran up the entire length of her inner forearm, and then it picked up again on her shoulder, a flurry of colorful splashes. "It wasn't easy. Trust me."

"I would've had to black mine out anyway. This's better." He pulled his t-shirt over his head and she couldn't contain her gasp.

"Oh, baby," she murmured.

The scar was thick and white down his sternum. It curved at the bottom to hook across his chest, and it finally ended halfway around his ribcage. The "Son" "Shine" tattoos were gone from his pecs. He rubbed the scar with his knuckles.

"Kinda Frankenstein-ish, huh?" he said, ruefully.

"I'm so sorry," she said. Tears had gathered in her eyes, but he brushed them away with his thumb. "When we had you in the back of that van I just felt so fucking helpless. I thought you were gonna die right there, just bleed out all over my shoes. And it was my fault. Teddy targeted you because of me."

"It's good, Liv. I'm okay now. I wouldn't trade any of it if it meant not having you."

"I shouldn't have left you."

"Right. So instead they woulda hauled you off to Atlanta and killed you along the way. Tig told me what those fuckers did."

She sniffled and caught his hand in hers. Kissed the center of his palm and smiled up at him. "They lost their jobs if it makes you feel any better."

"It does," he said. "A little." He hesitated at his belt buckle. "Want me to keep going?"

"Are there any more surprises I should prepare myself for?"

"Nah," he said with a shrug. "I mean, the piercing's no big deal, so—"

"Shut up and take your pants off, asshole."

"Asshole? _Asshole_? Are you kidding me? Fifteen months apart, within two hours she's insulting me."

"I'm sorry, baby," she said, her voice going low and sweet like warm honey. "Could you take your pants off for me? Please? I've missed your cock so much, Juicy."

Every drop of blood in his body rushed south so fast it left him dizzy. He let out a strangled breath and unfastened his belt.

"That's kind of impossible to refuse," he said, his voice thick. His pants dropped to the floor and he kicked them away. She lifted a brow when he hesitated. He grinned and pushed his shorts down.

"Mmm," she murmured. She rose to her feet and rested one hand on his shoulder while the other drifted lower to caress his chest and down, down, to his hip where she stopped and flashed him a teasing grin. She tugged at her bra strap. "Help me?"

"Uh huh," he said with a drunken nod. He brushed his mouth to the color on her shoulder. Bit down and sucked as she gasped. His tongue swirled against her soft skin. "So sweet, baby," he whispered.

He cupped her breasts in his big hands and tugged at her nipples through her bra. She made a low noise of pleasure and kissed him. Her tongue darted into his mouth, and he flicked his against it. She pulled away with a laugh.

"I missed you so much, Juice."

He reached behind her to undo the clasp and the scrap of lace fell away. "I missed you too, Liv. I didn't—I mean, I knew I missed you. But I didn't know how much until I saw you. And then it was like…"

"You aren't quite sure how you got through the last fifteen months."

"Yeah," he breathed.

She pulled away and got rid of her trousers. Wearing only panties that matched her discarded bra, she scooted back onto the bed and crooked her finger at him. "Come here."

He didn't have to be asked twice. He stretched out between her legs, and as he moved she felt his erection brush the inside of her thigh. She wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed.

"Hi there," she said.

"Hey," he replied in a harsh rasp.

"Tell me what you want, baby," she said as she stroked him.

"I told you," he said. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and her back arched. "I wanna taste you." He rolled it around between his lips. "Make you come." Switched to the other one and nibbled. "Make you remember."

"Remember—what—?" he said, her voice breathless and thready.

He raised his head and fixed her with a wolfish smile. "You're mine, Olivia. I'm yours and you're mine and everything else is just details."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

She pulled him to her for a long, hungry kiss. Her teeth sank into his lip. He pulled away with a gasp and her grin was all mischief and seduction. She tugged him back and soothed the spot with her tongue. He stroked up the length of her body, his fingers dancing along her tattoo and his thumbs caressing the silken skin over her ribs.

He found the sensitive spot behind her ear and she let out a sharp breath. He trailed a line of soft, sucking kisses down the side of her neck, barely scraping with his teeth. He lingered at the spot where neck curved into shoulder, both because he loved it and because she did. She ran her fingers through his hair and laughed a little.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing. Just—this is different." She rubbed his head with both hands and he shrugged.

"I'm gonna miss the way you kiss my head, but it's not too bad."

She lifted a brow and brushed her finger over the tip of his cock. "Good thing you have a spare."

"I knew it'd come in handy one day." His expression turned serious. He dropped his chin to kiss her chest, from the hollow of her throat to her sternum. He traced constellations with his tongue. "I missed these."

"My freckles? What is your fascination with freckles?"

"I don't know." He drew a hand up the length of her arm. She wasn't _covered_ in freckles like some redheads, but she had a healthy smattering of them. "I just think they're cute."

"Cute?"

"Yup. Sexy, too. Especially this one." There was a single spot on her right breast, just to the left of the aureola. He kissed it. Licked it. "I have missed this freckle."

She threw her head back and laughed. "You're so fucking cute, Ortiz. I can't handle it."

"Cute?" He dragged his tongue across her nipple.

"Mmmm. Sexy, too," she said on a breath.

"Uh huh." He pressed her breasts together and went back and forth, licking and sucking first one of the flushed, sensitive buds and then the other. He rolled them between his lips in the way that made her moan every time. Lathed his tongue over them.

"So good, Juicy!" she said, her fingers tight in his hair.

He could tell by the cadence of her breath it was time to move on. He wanted her strung-out and begging by the time he got to her panties, and she was almost there. He mouthed the soft underside of her breasts and moved lower. Traced the lines of her tattoo with his lips and tongue.

"I'm glad they didn't make you get rid of it," he said. "I remember the first time I saw it. You'd already threatened to stab a guy with a switchblade and told me you'd rebuilt your car, but then I saw this and it's like…this is _you_."

"Is it?" she said. She ran her finger down his nose to his mouth. He caught it between his teeth and she giggled.

"It's the carrion-eating death butterflies. Pretty and fragile and they'll fuck your shit up."

"I'm _short_, Juice, not fragile." She didn't argue about the _fuck your shit up_ part.

"Right. Not fragile at all." He soothed his hand over the red marks his stubble had left. "Guess I shoulda shaved a little closer."

"I don't mind it. Kind of like it, really."

"Mmm," he murmured. He slid down a little further to kiss her tummy. Flick his tongue across her belly button. He ran his palms up the smooth line of her thighs as his mouth moved over the curve of her hip. He spread her legs and brushed his nose against the inside of her thigh.

She squirmed. "Don't you dare tickle me."

"No?" he said. He pressed his lips to her inner thigh and sucked.

"Fuck!" she rasped, and he grinned. "Juicy, baby, please!"

"Please what, Livvie?" he said, his brown eyes all innocence even as his tongue worked the tender skin. "You want me to stop?"

"No! Nuh uh, don't stop."

"Hhmm." He trailed his fingers along the thin fabric between her legs. It was damp. His eyes crinkled at the corners and he licked the sensitive crease between her leg and the edge of her underwear.

She panted. "Like that. More!"

He blew a stream of cool air across her heated skin. "You want me to eat your pussy?"

"You _know_ I do, you fucker. Quit being so _mean_."

"Maybe I just wanna hear you say it." He pressed his tongue against her panties and rubbed up and down her wet slit. He licked her clit through the thin material and laughed at her groan of frustration.

She wiggled. It was so _close_, but the fabric was an infuriating barrier between her skin and what she wanted. Just enough to make her crazy without giving any relief to the throbbing, aching knot of _need _that was her clit.

"Juicy, please," she begged. "Please lick my pussy. Make me come with your mouth. Please, baby, I need you so bad!"

He moaned against her, and the vibration on her hyper-sensitive vulva made her whimper. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and yanked them down. They caught around her ankles and he left them there, tangled with her feet. He buried his face between her thighs and licked every inch of her: every fold, every crease, every sweet secret place that made her sob out his name in a breathless litany.

"Is this what you want?" he said, his voice deep and husky. "You want me to lick you like this?" He swirled his tongue around and around her clit, barely brushing against it with each orbit, until finally her pleas were too much and he lapped over it hard and slow.

"Yes! Just like that, baby, don't stop oh God that's so fucking good—!"

He kneaded her thighs with strong hands while her fingers gripped the back of his head, pressing him into her. He sucked her lips into his mouth and slid them against each other. He licked from her clit down to the curve of her ass, and as his tongue circled the tight ring her moans grew even more breathless and desperate.

He moved back up to dip his tongue inside of her. He made a low, appreciative noise at the feel of her wetness against his mouth, the taste of her, the way her nails dug into his scalp as she begged for more. His nose bumped her clit as he twisted his tongue and pressed it against the front wall. He licked and probed, and he knew he'd hit her G-spot when her hips came up off the bed.

He grinned and lashed it with his tongue.

"Oh God, Juicy, fuck yes so good, baby, oh my God!" she moaned.

He raised his chin to watch her as he thrust two fingers into her. Her eyes were wide, lust-blown and all pupil; her cheeks flushed; her dark hair clung to her face and the side of her neck. He hooked his fingers to rub the spot his tongue had just been toying with and her head fell back. The liquid squelch they made as they plunged in and out was one of the most erotic things he'd ever heard—next to the sound of her voice like it was now, breathless and frantic and barely coherent.

"Remember the first time I fingered you, Livvie?" he said as he flicked his tongue across her clit. His words slurred a bit as his own desire ramped up. "You remember how you came for me? I shoulda known then I'd never get you outta my system."

She gasped out a laugh. "You better—the fuck—not, Ortiz," she managed between panting breaths.

"Never," he whispered. "Never gonna happen."

He sucked her clit between his lips. Worked it with his tongue, hard and fast, as his fingers glided against her G-spot. Her hips rocked to meet him and the muscles in her legs quivered and danced.

It was almost too much, almost more than she could handle, and as the heat built higher and hotter she flinched away from it. But he didn't let up, didn't give an inch, and finally she relaxed and let it take her. _That_ was why it was so good with him: she trusted him. She had somehow known, from the first time he touched her, that with him she could _let go_ and…the thoughts smeared like chalk in the rain as sensation overwhelmed her.

"Yes, yes, that's so good don't stop oh fuck yes God I can't—!" Her body arched with the force of the orgasm as it exploded through her. She lapsed into wordless whimpers and small, quiet cries as she shuddered again and again, wave after wave of searing pleasure that locked her muscles and blanked her brain. Her fingers gripped the sheets so hard her knuckles were white, and her mouth fell open in an _o_.

He watched her, his fingers still as she clenched around him, and waited until it began to subside. As she came down, a slow spiral that left her boneless and spent, he made his tongue soft and brushed it gently against her clit. At first it was too sensitive and she squirmed, so he contented himself with licking her slick and swollen labia.

"Fuck, baby, oh God oh God ohhh my God," she panted over and over, a keen of want.

This time when he lapped over the little nub, her hips undulated beneath him and her breath caught. It had gone from almost-painful to incredibly sensual, a warm, velvet roll of sensation that she felt through her entire body. It reminded her of the taste of fine chocolate: pure pleasure, sinful and rich, indulgent and so, so sweet.

"Juicy," she whispered. That was all, just his name, but the sound of it made him shiver with need.

He turned his head and kissed the inside of her thigh and pulled his fingers out of her. He sucked one of them into his mouth and grinned. "You taste so good, baby."

She smiled a little drunkenly and tapped her lips. He brushed the slick fingertip against her, and she used her tongue to pull it in. He inhaled hard as she sucked, her cheeks hollowing and her tongue wiggling.

He moved up to lie next to her and she collapsed against him. He ran a hand over her hair and she rested her cheek on his chest.

"That was…" She trailed off, speechless for once. She tried again. "That was…incredible. Amazing? Like. I—words fail me."

He laughed, and she could tell by the sound he was both embarrassed and pleased by her praise. She traced her finger down the scar on his chest and kissed it with soft lips. He hooked a knuckle under her chin and raised her eyes to his.

"I love you, Olivia," he said.

Her mouth moved in a smile. The dimple appeared in her chin and he stroked it with his thumb. "I love you too, Juan Carlos."

His grin was goofy, adorable, and she felt a sweet zing of joy at the sight.

"Mine," he whispered as he kissed her.

"Mine," she murmured back. She leaned away and lifted a brow. Tilted her head as her smile turned impish. "Let's see if I can make you feel half as good as you just did for me."

"You have my full support in that endeavor."

"Oh good," she said as she slid her hand down. "I thought I might."

* * *

_Um. One more to go. And, yeah, it's mostly smut. *blinks innocently* Is that a problem?_


	62. Something Right

Bob Schneider started us off, Bob Schneider closes us out. More long, self-indulgent quoting to kick off our last hurrah.

I went back to expand on this and expanded on it a bit more than I meant to. Woops. ALSO! To clarify: there is no surveillance in the bedroom. There was only audio and Trudy got it cut off. I went and re-wrote that a little bit in the last chapter to make it clearer. :)

* * *

**well if i spell it out, if i get it out  
will you hear me when i tell you about  
what i have to say before it gets too late  
it's not as easy as they said it'd be  
but there's something right about you and me  
something right about you and me...  
**

**we're like romeo and juliet**  
**we're like forty dogs, cigarettes**  
**we're like good times that haven't happened yet, but will**  
**i can tell you where we're gonna be**  
**when the whole world falls into the sea**  
**we'll be livin' ever after happily**  
Bob Schneider, "40 Dogs (Like Romeo and Juliet)"

He brushed the hair back from her face and her eyes lifted to meet his. She didn't know what she loved more: the feel of his hard cock as it slid in and out of her mouth; the hot ache of desire in his eyes; or the taste of him, salt and musk and a sweet undertone that was probably mostly just her imagination. She smiled around him and his head fell back as he groaned. She tapped his thigh and he looked at her again.

She held his balls in one hand, stroking and gently squeezing and tugging just a little. He squirmed beneath her and dug his teeth into his lip to bite down a yelp. She licked along the length of his shaft, tracing the veins with her tongue, and then lower.

She closed her eyes a moment just to savor the noises he made: soft sighs and deep groans and that one little whimper that let her know she was doing everything right, and in a way that made him nuts. She slid two fingers into her mouth to get them nice and wet, and then pressed them against his perineum.

"Oh fuck!" he moaned. "Fuck, Livvie, goddamn!"

Olivia smirked and massaged him there, the pressure firm and steady, while her other hand stroked up and down his slippery cock. She sucked first one of his balls into her mouth, and then the other, rolling each one between her lips and lathing it with her tongue. She watched in fascination as his abs rippled and danced with every touch of her mouth on his heated skin.

She licked her way back up to the head and trailed her tongue through the dribble of pre-come that formed there. "Tell me something, baby," she murmured, her lips brushing his cock as she spoke.

"Anything," he said, and she could tell from his voice that she _could_ ask literally anything right now and he'd give it to her.

"Mmmm," she moaned and sucked the head back into her mouth. Her hand worked the shaft as she lavished attention on the sensitive glans: swirled her tongue around it and let it pop in and out between her swollen, reddened lips. Sucked just hard enough to make him beg for more, and then let up again.

"Sorry, love," she said. "Got distracted. You're so goddamn sexy when I've got your dick in my mouth and you're all frustrated and needy."

He managed a rasping chuckle. "Evil, Gable."

"Guilty as charged."

He rubbed a thumb across her puffy lips and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "You look so good when you've been suckin' my cock, baby."

"I'll look even better when you come in my mouth."

He groaned and she lapped up another salty ooze of pre-come. "Did she do this for you, Juicy? That girl you picked up? Did she suck your big hard dick and make you squirm and beg?"

His head lolled against the pillows in a negative. "Fuck no, Livvie. Just you!"

"That's right," she said. She squeezed him, her strong fingers tight, and wiggled the tip of her tongue into his slit. "Because who does this cock belong to, sweetheart?"

He let out a strangled moan and fisted his hands in the sheets. "You, Livvie. Belongs—fuck oh Jesus—to you."

She sucked him in until he hit the back of her throat, then she adjusted the angle a little and took him deeper. Her throat closed around him and she swallowed.

"Holy fuck goddamn, baby, oh God don't ever stop," he said through gritted teeth.

She bobbed her head up and down, taking him deep each time, her throat closing around the head and her tongue moving against him. She palmed his balls, massaging and squeezing, and let her fingers rub against his perineum. She felt them tighten in her hand and eased up a little.

Her lips stayed firm around him as she sucked him in and out, but her mouth was loose and hot, a slick velvety vise of almost-not-quite.

"Please, Livvie. Jesus fuck I can't—please, I need to come so fucking bad!" She'd been teasing and toying with him for almost an hour, and the need for release was a deep, burning ache in his balls. She knew exactly what she was doing, and fifteen months apart hadn't dulled her ability to take him right to the edge and then back off just before he got what he wanted.

She ran her nails down the inside of his thighs just to watch the muscles quiver. Her head tilted as she considered him: huge eyes, slack jaw, body rigid from head to toe, cock iron-hard and throbbing. Her cherry mouth curved and she hitched a shoulder.

"Yeah, okay," she said.

He blew out a long, ragged breath as her lips closed around him and she sucked him in earnest. The hand around his shaft moved in time to her mouth. She swirled the underside of her tongue over the tip before she slid her saliva-slicked lips around him again.

She didn't let up this time: her cheeks hollowed and her tongue worked and she massaged his perineum with her thumb. The heat and pressure mounted in his balls as his moans and gasps grew more and more desperate.

"Fuck oh God that's it yeah like that oh God, baby, fuck yes yes, _fuck_!"

With the last, almost-shouted obscenity, she felt his cock jerk and hot come flooded her mouth. She swallowed eagerly as he babbled incoherent nonsense that dissolved into wordless grunts and whimpers of pleasure. He spasmed against her tongue again and again, but finally he fell back onto the bed and let out a long, breathless groan.

She flicked her tongue against him one more time and giggled as he twitched.

"You're killin' me, babe," he rasped.

She crawled up to lie beside him and pressed her lips to his shoulder. "You know you love it."

He nodded wordlessly and rolled to face her. Tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her chapped, swollen mouth until she moaned against him.

"So wait," she said when the kiss broke, her voice breathless and high, "you fucked someone else, but you haven't had your dick sucked in fifteen months?"

He gave a sheepish grin. "Not since that day at the ice cream shop."

"I admire your fortitude, Ortiz."

"I admire your mouth," he murmured as he kissed her again, his tongue swirling and tangling with hers, and the taste of his come was a musky undertone to her own unique flavor. When he pulled away his mouth moved in a little frown. He traced a finger along the curve of her arm.

"What?" she said. She knew that look. He was thinking about something and wasn't sure how to say it.

"Look, I'm not mad you slept with Gloria. I mean, even if I hadn't picked up that girl, I still wouldn't be mad."

"But…?" she said when he didn't continue.

He sighed. "_But_ I'm wondering why. Just because she's hot?"

She made a face. "You know, there's a lot more to her than her looks. She graduated top of her class at Princeton Law. She's got this really wicked sense of—" She cut herself off. "That wasn't the point of your question."

"Not really, no," he said, dryly.

Her head tilted thoughtfully. "Some of the same reasons you did, I guess. It was about a year ago, and I was just…I was really sad, Juicy. I missed you and I thought you might change your mind at any minute. I thought maybe you'd meet somebody else or fall for a crow eater or any number of things."

"That never woulda happened."

"I know. Logically I know. But it was a bad time and I wasn't thinking logically."

He tapped one of the amethyst-colored blossoms on her side. "Don't get offended, okay? But it sorta confuses me how this whole thing works. You're with me, but you still want to sleep with women?"

She lifted her brows. "You're with me and _you_ still want to sleep with women."

"No, not—it's not that—" He scrubbed a hand over his head. "Kimberly was an isolated incident."

"Kimberly? You slept with a grown woman named _Kimberly_?"

"Olivia."

She held up a hand. "Sorry. I'm not judging." Her mouth curved a little. "Juicy, listen. You think Gloria's hot, right?"

"Well, yeah. I've got _eyes_."

"Okay. I think she's hot, too. If the situation hadn't been what it was, I wouldn't have slept with her. Just like _you_ wouldn't. Right?"

He looked away, his forehead creased. "I guess."

She gave him a light smack on the shoulder. "Ortiz. Didn't we have this discussion? I can find someone attractive without wanting to jump her—or _his_—bones. Just like you can."

"I really do know that, Liv."

She kissed his neck, a soft, sucking line from shoulder to ear. "Baby, would it've been easier on you if I'd slept with a guy?"

"Fuck no," he said with a scowl.

"Then what? I love you, Juice. I'm not going anywhere. I was scared and alone and she was there. That's all it was. Just like you and…_Kimberly_."

"I just worry sometimes that you miss women. Because I'm a guy and your experiences with guys haven't been that great, so I just…worry," he finished lamely.

She took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. She lingered there, kissing and nibbling and licking, until his breathing quickened and his fingers tightened on her hip.

When she pulled away her eyes were intense and steady on his. "I don't miss women because I don't miss _anyone_. I only want _you_. Juice Ortiz. If you were Juanita instead of Juan I wouldn't miss men. Because it's not your gender or your parts I'm in love with; it's _you_, Juicy. _Just you_. Do you understand?"

He let out a sharp puff of air. "I'm trash, Liv. Givin' you shit for sleepin' with Gloria when I did the same fuckin' thing."

"No, babe. I get it, and it's okay. But remember what I told you?" She sucked his lower lip into her mouth. "I'm yours, Juicy," she said, her voice low and her breath warm on his skin. "Nobody's ever made me feel as good as you. No one makes me come like you do."

"I don't know," he said, half-joking and half…not.

"You don't? I know I was a little incoherent before, but honestly you should take that as a compliment. All it really takes to be good at sex is patience and listening skills. Take your time and pay attention to what your partner likes." She smirked. "You're very good at both."

That perked him up. "I like to listen."

She kissed his nose. "I know you do."

"I like to listen when you tell me what feels good." He pressed his mouth to her shoulder. "And what you want me to do to you." Her jaw. "What you want to do to me." The pulse in her throat. "When you beg."

"When I make _you_ beg," she said with a wicked grin.

"That too," he said, his voice gone husky. He kissed her and pressed a hand to the small of her back to rub a slow circle.

She rested her palm on his chest and leaned away. "You know we've gotta choose new names," she said, apropos of nothing.

"They let us choose?"

"Trudy didn't tell you that?"

"I guess I didn't ask."

"Well, they do. They prefer the new ones to have the same initials as our old ones, or to sound similar. Makes it easier to adjust."

"I can tell that advice didn't come from the former Audra Munro turned Olivia Gable."

She laughed and gave his jaw a teasing bite. "I decided to go a whole different direction."

"Uh huh." He wound a strand of her hair around his finger. "You gonna do _AM_ or _OG_ this time?"

"I don't know," she said and furrowed her brow. "I was thinking AM. Maybe kind of…reclaim my old name a little, you know? TJ's dead and Teddy's gone and I'm sick of letting either of them have any say on my life."

"Hhmm." He nibbled her ear as he thought it over. "There are a lot of pretty names that start with _A_. Abigail. Allison. Asia."

"Asia?" she said, doubtfully.

"I knew this girl in high school—"

"I'm not naming myself after one of your old girlfriends, Ortiz. Sorry."

He laughed. "Okay, fine." He paused. His expression clouded and his jaw worked.

"What, baby?"

"Maybe this's weird, but…my mom's name was Ana. I just…I always thought that was a real pretty name."

"It is pretty." She brushed her fingers along his jaw. "I actually thought of that the other day. I mean, I didn't know it was your mom's name. I just like it. I was going to ask what you thought about it."

He smiled, the soft, sweet one that made her heart catch every time. "I like it."

"Me too," she said with a grin. They were both half-laughing when their mouths met, and they swallowed each other's joy like ambrosia.

"What about you, Juan Carlos? _JCO_ or just _JO_? You gonna embrace your Puerto Rican heritage or go more anglicized?"

He trailed a hand down the smooth line of her back. "I guess I gotta keep livin' the middle name life, if only because I like it so much when you call me both. And, I don't know. It feels sorta like a betrayal if I went with _John_ or some shit. Even though I don't speak Spanish."

"You could always change that."

"Huh," he said. He hadn't really considered it. His brows drew together. He'd barely graduated high school, but that's mostly because he hadn't been all that interested; girls and computers and bikes had been much more enthralling to seventeen-year-old Juan Ortiz than history and bio could ever be.

"Would that be weird? Goin' back to school…like, college, I mean. I'm a grown-ass man."

"People go back to school at all sorts of ages, babe. It's never too late until you're dead."

"I could…I could take something with computers. Like programming or network security."

"Don't they basically teach hacking in network security classes?"

"Yup," he said with a grin.

"You'd be top of your class. Number one with a bullet."

His hand slid down to squeeze her ass. "Maybe if I got stuck on somethin' you could tutor me."

"Tutor you?" she murmured. "And would there be a costume involved in this tutoring? Like maybe some glasses?"

"A cute little skirt. Maybe one of those sweaters with the diamonds on it."

"Diamonds…? Oh. You mean argyle."

"_Argyle_. That's it," he mumbled as he caressed the round curve of her buttocks with his thumb. "Stockings under the skirt with a garter because your thighs in garters is what wet dreams are made of."

She laughed, low and warm. "Why, Mr. Ortiz, you've been holding out on me. I had no idea you had a sexy librarian kink."

"More like I have an Olivia Gable kink. And I just had this image—well. Maybe I should save it until I can act it out."

"Incorrigible, Ortiz. Really." She grabbed his wrist as his fingers dipped between her thighs. "Behave. We're trying to have a conversation."

"Uh huh. About me eating you out while you're wearing a cute little skirt and a garter belt."

"Hum," she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "I actually thought it was about your new _name_."

He sighed. "Keep up, Liv. That was like three sexual fantasies ago."

She smothered a laugh against his shoulder. "I love you so damn much, Juice. I know I say it and I hope I do things that show it, but sometimes it just hits me and—God, I never thought I'd ever be _stupid_ in love. Like sloppy and drunk and just—"

"Loopy."

"Yeah," she said. "Loopy."

"Dizzy," he said, softly.

"Breathless," she murmured.

He kissed her hard and hot, and as it deepened he rolled over on top of her. He nipped at her lips and caught the corner of her jaw with his teeth.

"Julio?" she whispered between searing kisses. "Jesus? Jorge?"

He made a face. "Maybe I should go English after all."

"Whatever you decide, can I still call you _Juicy_ when you fuck me?"

"Baby, you can call me anything you want. I just love hearin' you."

"Mmm, me too. You're sexy when you beg."

He smiled and dipped his head to press a line of kisses against her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, and when she spoke again her voice was serious.

"I need you to be honest, Juicy. Don't think with your dick, or even your heart."

He looked up, forehead creased. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, really. I just want to make sure you're sure. _Really_ sure. I mean, you can leave the program once you get in—especially because you're not the witness—but that can be dangerous. I don't want you to think you have to do this. I mean, if you really wanted to—to…go back…after tonight…I guess I could—"

"Stop," he said. "Don't be ridiculous, Olivia. Charming isn't my home. SAMCRO isn't, either. _You_ are. It took you leaving for me to realize it, but when I woke up and you were gone I think it hurt worse than this fuckin' scar."

Tears flooded her eyes and she tried to look away, but he caught her chin and wouldn't let her. "They wouldn't let me wait, baby. I didn't want to go. I tried—"

"Stop," he said again, gently. "I know. You don't have to explain anything to me." He paused and rested his forehead against hers. "When I was tryin' to come back from the surgery, sore all the time and annoyed and without any kind of stamina for anything, I went through this angry phase. I almost called Wong and told him the whole fuckin' thing was off, because I was so goddamn mad at you for leaving me."

"Oh," she said with a gulp.

He lifted his head and kissed her nose. "I got over it, babe. Chibs helped. Punched me in the face, actually."

She winced and rolled her eyes. "Jesus."

"Yeah, well, I needed it. I was all self-pity and bullshit, and he knocked sense into me."

"Ohh, well, if I'd known it was _that_ easy—"

"Fuck you, Gable," he said with a laugh.

"Promise?" she purred.

"You better believe it," he growled in her ear. "Any time you want. For the rest of our lives, baby."

"Even when I'm old and wrinkly and my tits are saggy?"

He let out a snort of amusement. "Even then. I'll pop my pill and we'll bring the house down."

She turned her head away from his kiss at the last minute, and he grunted in protest. "You're even okay with Vermont?" she said.

"Huh?" He blinked to clear his head and tried to focus on more than the feel of her warm, soft body beneath his. "Oh. Yeah. Vermont's great. I love…syrup. And snow."

"I think there's more than syrup and snow."

"Really?"

Her face scrunched. "Maybe not. But we can get a house with a fireplace and have dirty, sweaty sex in front of it."

"I fuckin' love Vermont. Best state in the whole goddamn union."

"The way to your heart is ever through your dick, Ortiz," she said with a wry tilt to her mouth.

"I dunno. Straight through the sternum was pretty effective."

She swatted his shoulder. "Get off me if you're gonna make terrible jokes."

"I'd rather get off _in_ you," he said and waggled his brows.

"Oh my God," she groaned. She shoved him away, but he pulled her with him so that their positions were reversed. She let her legs fall to either side of his hips and sat up. "You know, Juicy, your recovery time is admirable in a man your age."

"I'm only three years older than you, Liv."

"We would've been in high school together," she said with a grin.

"I was a douche in high school," he said. He rubbed her thighs and kneaded the long muscles.

"Hhhmm. Did you have a leather jacket? That mohawk?"

"Jacket, yeah. Mohawk not till later."

"Did you ride a motorcycle?"

"Yep."

She leaned down and traced her tongue over his lips. "I would've fucked you so hard, baby. Fucked you and stolen your leather jacket and maybe, _maybe_ if you begged me enough let you feel me up sometime, just because I was bored."

His eyes went huge and his breath caught. She felt his cock twitch beneath her. "Was that the kind of girl you were, Livvie?" he murmured as his fingers tightened on her legs. "A high school mean girl?"

"Not when I was younger, but…well, by the time I had my first boyfriend. Yeah."

"What'd he do? Grope you in the back of his flatbed pickup and last about five seconds when you actually let him fuck you?"

"Somethin' like that. I guess it was more than just the Salma Hayek snake dance that helped me realize I'm bi."

He held her down as he rocked up against her. "How old were you?"

Her head fell back and she let out a low moan. "Sixteen. Reckless and wild because my mom was gone and I nearly died. Thought nothin' could touch me."

"You steal his leather jacket?"

She smirked. "His letter jacket. But same idea."

"Livvie, baby, I woulda treated you so good you might've taken my jacket, but you woulda brought it back the next day 'cause you couldn't keep your damn hands off me." He pinched a nipple between his knuckles. "Just like now."

"Oh? Was teenage Juan Carlos as eager to please as the present-day version?"

He snorted. "I was a douche, like I said. I didn't discover the joy of makin' a woman come her brains out until I was in my twenties."

"Then nope," she said. "You would've been the one trailing after me like a lost puppy. _Ooo, Addie, suck my dick!_" she said with a teasing grin."_Audra, baby, let me just get you off _one time_. I'll finger you. You don't even have to give me a hand job while I do it!_"

He barked out a laugh. "Yeah, that sounds like me. You got my number."

"I've had your number since day one, m'love. But you still never fail to surprise me."

"You know, by the time you were sixteen I was out. Graduated by the skin of my teeth and loose on the world."

"I bet you didn't go far, did you? Stayed around the old neighborhood and kicked up trouble. Don't worry; I still would've found you. Probably would've seen you around when I was a cute little freshman you didn't look at twice, but once I grew up a little, I would've found you. And maybe taught you a thing or two in the bargain."

"I bet you would," he murmured. She had, after all, hadn't she? Or maybe he'd found her. Or they'd found each other. He shrugged a shoulder. "Didn't really have anywhere else to go, till I moved out here."

"Chasin' a girl?"

"Somethin' like that," he said with a rueful grin. He sat up, rearranging her on his lap, and when they were both settled again he said, "What about you? You chase girls in high school?"

"One," she said. "Well, no, I didn't really chase her. After I broke up with letter jacket guy I started spending more and more time with my best friend. Then I think we both kinda realized we were together so much because we wanted to be a lot more than friends."

He blinked at her, eyes wide. "Does this story involve a sleepover of some sort? A pillow fight?"

"Juan Carlos!" she said with a laugh.

"I know, I know: too much porn."

"Uh huh." She pressed her lips together as she tried to smother a smile. "It wasn't a sleepover, per se. I mean, it was just the two of us. But she used to spend the night at my house a lot on the weekends, and I only had one bed, sooo…"

His eyes looked like they were about to bug out of his head. "Maybe we should change the subject," he said in a strangled voice.

She giggled. "Probably. You look like you're about to have an aneurysm."

He traced a pattern among the inked-in petals on her upper thigh. "You always seemed to enjoy it when we watched porn together."

"That's because you let me pick the movies." She paused. "You know I'm open-minded about sex."

His mouth quirked. "I've noticed that."

She poked him. "The problem is porn can be so gross and unrealistic. I mean, women aren't hairless Barbie doll dick receptacles."

He spluttered. "Holy shit. When you put it _that_ way—"

"Well? Am I lying? Come on. And girl on girl scenes. Wow, really?" She rolled her eyes. "And don't get me started on threesomes."

He'd heard the diatribe before, but he loved to hear her talk when she got passionate about something; she tended to use her whole body, and at the moment she was sitting naked on his lap, so.… "Bisexual women don't exist to fulfill men's sexual fantasies," he said, quoting her almost directly.

"Exactly! I mean, I tell you things sometimes, and I know it turns you on—which, duh, is why I tell you—but I also know you see me as an actual human being and not—"

"A hairless Barbie doll dick receptacle?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you making fun of me?"

He choked out a laugh and kissed her. "No, baby. Not at all. First, I have never and will never want you to be a hairless Barbie doll."

"I know that," she said, sounding a little sulky.

He kissed her again, taking his time about it. "Second," he said, softer, "you know you're a _subject_ of my sexual fantasies because you're _you_. You're almost the only thing I've fantasized about since the night we met."

"Almost?" she said, teasing.

"I tried to break it up a little when I was trying to get over you."

"Hhhmm," she said. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his neck. "Did it work?"

"Not really." He took his cue from her and captured a handful of her thick, dark mane. "You know, I think I could get used to this."

"I thought you liked the red."

"I do. I really, really do." He grinned at her. "But it's still red in some places."

"The advantages of not being a hairless Barbie doll."

"Uh huh." He tugged her head back and kissed her throat, scraping with his teeth and sucking softly.

"That feels good, Juicy," she whispered.

"Does it?" He sucked harder.

She let out a shaky breath, and he lathed over the spot with his tongue.

"Don't wanna leave a mark. You've got to look all professional to testify tomorrow."

"Hum. Don't remind me."

His brow furrowed and he stroked her sides, a gesture more of comfort and affection than anything sexual. "You nervous, babe?"

"I don't know," she said with a grimace. "Maybe a little. Gloria said it would be a closed courtroom, since they need to protect my identity, but I'm still going to have to tell a whole bunch of strangers a whole lot of really personal shit."

"I wish I could be there for you," he said. "I know you'll do great, though."

"Thank you, love. And it's okay. You'll be there after." Her mouth curved and she caught his hand to kiss the tips of his fingers. "You're here now."

He shifted so that his rock-hard cock was nestled between her slick labia. "Definitely here now," he said, roughly.

She dug her teeth into her lower lip and rocked a little. Whimpered as the smooth head slid across her clit. "You always know exactly what I need, baby."

"Yeah?" he murmured. "You want me inside you, Livvie? That what you need?"

"Fuck yes," she said on a sharp breath. "You know I do."

"You're all wet me for me, sweetheart." He slid a finger between them and stroked it down her slit. Brought it to his mouth and sucked it clean.

"I told you I missed your cock. I meant it."

"I guess you did." He brushed the back of his hand down her body, from collarbone to hip, barely skimming her skin and her taut nipples. "I'm gonna give you what you want, Livvie, because God knows I want it too—just bury myself in you balls deep and fuck you till you scream."

She shivered. Her eyes when they met his were heavy-lidded and passion-drugged. Her mouth moved in a little smile. "I know you are, Juicy. I could have you begging _me_ in about ten seconds."

"But you aren't gonna do that, are you?" he said. He rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. She flicked her tongue against it.

She shook her head. "Nuh uh."

"Nope. Because you know who that sweet wet cunt belongs to, don't you?"

She closed her eyes and nodded. Her fingers were tight on his ribs and she moved against him in short, maddening jerks.

"Say it," he rasped. "Let me hear you, baby."

Her jaw clenched. Heat licked up from her clit as it bumped over his glans, and they were both panting and trembling. Finally she gave in.

"You!" she cried. "It's yours. I'm yours, Juicy. Only yours."

"Fuckin' Christ," he groaned. "Goddamn that's gotta be the sexiest thing—" He broke off and lifted her with strong hands and held her there.

"You're mine, Livvie. I'm yours."

He let go and she slid down onto him, enveloping his cock in her wet heat all the way to the base. Her face scrunched and she rested her forehead against his shoulder.

"You okay, baby?" he murmured, his hands stroking her hair and down her back.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I just—I wasn't sure I'd ever—" She wiggled and he bit back a moan. "You just feel so damn good, Juicy."

He trailed his mouth down the side of her neck, sweet, soft kisses that made her feel languid and golden. "I know what you mean, sweetheart. You got any idea how many times I jerked off thinkin' about this moment in the last fifteen months?"

"Ha!" she said, a sharp sound of amusement. "I think I can guess." She moved her hips in a slow roll. "So romantic, Ortiz."

"Thought you didn't want romance," he muttered. Her pace was making him crazy, and he fought the urge to throw her backwards and fuck her into the mattress.

"That's my general life philosophy, but then…"

She trailed off, and he glanced up at her, a smile dancing around his eyes. "Then…?"

"I got these letters," she said. She sucked his earlobe. "A whole box of them."

He thrust up into her and she rocked down against him.

"Letters, huh?" he said, his voice rough and breathless. "What kinda letters?"

She pushed him back to the bed and braced her hands on his chest. Leaned forward so that he rubbed against her clit every time she moved. He squeezed her ass in both hands and she rode him faster, took him deeper.

"Love letters," she managed between gasps.

"Who—fuck, babe, holy Christ—who sent you—like that, right there, god_damn_—love letters?"

She went still. He groaned in frustration. She smirked and ran her fingers through the sweat coating his skin. Brushed her palms across his nipples. When he bucked against her she wagged a finger at him and he went still, the pulse in the hollow of his throat pounding and frantic.

"You did, Juan Carlos. Beautiful, wonderful, _erotic_ love letters." Her brows drew together and her expression was puzzled as she studied him. "Just when I think you're done surprising me, you come out with something like that."

"Good surprise?"

She laughed and kissed him long and sweet. "Yeah, love. Amazing surprise."

He flipped them both over and she let out a delighted little shriek. "Good surprise?" he repeated with a face-transforming grin.

"Yes!" she gasped as he sank in even deeper.

He grabbed her legs and tugged them higher; draped them over his arms and moved slow and easy until he hit the exact angle that made her moan the loudest. "Right there?"

"Uh huh," she breathed with a frantic nod. "Don't stop, Juicy. Fuck me, baby, please!"

He picked up a quick, hard rhythm, barely pulling out before he plunged in again. Her nails dug into his shoulder and the back of his neck, and he watched her face as it flushed and scrunched.

"Love you, Livvie," he whispered, his eyes dark and intense on hers. "Need you. Feels so goddamn good."

She moved with him, meeting every thrust with eager jerks of her hips, and she could feel the heat building sharp and deep. "Love you too, Juicy. God that's just right—so good—fuck, babe, can't get enough…!"

He chuckled, a rusty grate. "I know you can't. I know. S'why you're mine. S'why I'm yours."

Her words had dissolved into soft, whimpering cries. He wrapped her legs around his chest and felt them tighten against him. Stroked her face and kissed her with avid fervor. She twined her arms around his shoulders, her fingers in his hair, and he buried his face in her neck and they rocked together. Her body went taut, and he didn't slow as her cunt clenched his cock.

The orgasm was like a series of shocks, crackles of electricity that tensed her muscles and left her shaking and shuddering. She moaned his name, a lust-wrecked litany, and as much as he might want to, he couldn't hold on a second longer. His own orgasm hit, a rough storm, and he cried an incoherent babble of love and curses.

She was laughing as he fell against her. It bubbled up from somewhere deep inside, some secret store where she had hidden all her joy and sweetness. He knew where it was. He knew how to tap it.

She wondered if that would ever cease to amaze her.

They lay wrapped together, sweat-slicked skin adhering to sweat-slicked skin. They both felt wrung out, but in the best way possible, and he kissed anything he could reach without moving his head at all.

"Gimme minute," he muttered. "Gon' move."

"It's okay." She stroked her fingers through his hair. "Stay."

Finally he lifted his chin and fixed her with a sweet, tired smile. "You still gonna marry me, 'Livia?"

"I don't know. You gonna write me any more love letters?"

"Every day if you want."

She grinned. "That might be a little excessive."

"Wouldn't wanna overdo it."

"Might give yourself a cramp." She tangled her fingers with his and squeezed. "Can't have that."

His face stilled and his eyes turned serious. "Marry me, Olivia. I mean it."

"I already said yes, didn't I?"

"I know. But that was before. It's been a long time, and I wanna make sure—"

"Yes, Juice. Yes I'll marry you."

His grin was blinding, and he captured her mouth with his and didn't release her for a long, long time. They rolled across the bed, laughing and teasing and kissing, and when they finally settled they were both breathless. He wrapped an arm around her and she curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder.

He spread his hand under hers and compared them. He marveled over how delicate hers looked, small and long-fingered and elegant. He knew the strength in those fingers. Had felt it as she held him. Had watched her sew or fix some impossibly complicated bit of machinery. He knew she'd never want a ring. He didn't want her to have one. He rubbed his thumb against her third finger and she cast him a curious look.

"What's on your mind, Ortiz?"

He hesitated. "I had kind of a thought."

"Kind of? So a thought-lette?"

"Somethin' like that," he said with a quirk of his mouth.

She kissed his chest, the flat plane just before the curve of his shoulder. "You gonna spit it out, or make me guess?"

"You might think it's dumb."

"Probably not. Tell me."

He cleared his throat. "I was just thinking…I know you hate jewelry."

"Uh huh," she said, her tone wary.

"Now that I don't wear the club rings anymore, I'm not sure I'm crazy about it, either."

They'd both felt trapped by their own ornamentation.

She waited him out as he searched for the words.

"What if—instead of, like, wedding rings—what if we got tattoos? Not like dumb heart tattoos with our initials in them or something, but ring tattoos. Instead of rings."

Her mouth curved. "Kinda permanent."

He let out a frustrated huff. "Duh."

"You really want the whole world to know I'm yours, don't you, Juicy?"

He studied her face in a search for the trap or the mocking. There wasn't any. "I sure as fuck do," he said.

"Good," she murmured as she kissed him. "Because I do, too."

He ran his fingers through her hair and swirled his tongue against hers. Pulled away and pressed their foreheads together. "So, Liv—or whatever the fuck your name is—you and me?"

"Yeah, JO. You and me."

Their eyes met and held, and the moment stretched and lengthened. It didn't matter where they went—Vermont, Hawaii, the fucking moon—or what their names were. They had each other, and they had always been better together.

His mouth quirked. "You and me, AM."

A pause.

Then, "How do you feel about dogs?"

* * *

_Fin. 8/21/14_

_Welp. I guess that's it. :) Clearly this chapter didn't HAVE to happen, but there were some things I wanted them to work out, so I figured why not frame it around a whole lot of shameless smut?_

_Thanks to everyone who's stuck around this whole time; to the reviewers and the followers and the fav-ers and the PMers. To the casual reader and the addicted one. You guys are the best, and I love hearing from you ALL. :)_

_Er, ha. In other news and then I'll shut up: I have the urge to write either the 15 months they were apart (from Juice's pov) OR a high school au. What? I'm going to take a nap. UPDATE: I've started the highschool!au. It's called In the Blood, and you can find it here and on ao3. :)_


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